Memoirs of Girl, Disappeared
by bayumlikedayum
Summary: "Daniel Shoemaker" joined the paratroops because she wanted the 50 dollars a month more to send back home. Luz/OC.
1. 1: Currahee!

**A/N; **This chapter won't be much in the way of improvisation. Just introduces you to the OC, how, when, where, who. Enjoy!

**Chapter 1****- Currahee!**

**Prologue;**

For once, I just wanted it to be morning. For the darkness to be won over by the awakening sun: for this horrible period of time to be over and done with. Let me see the morning, boys. Never shut me up in this dank coldness again.

It's funny how things turn out, I realize now. Night was always the best part of my 'day'. To lie in my bed and listen to the crickets chirp, running over my thoughts with eyes closed waiting for sleep to come, those were the moments I lived for.

That all changed.

That all changed with the bloody war.

**Present Day;**

"You people are at the position of attention!"

The air was hot, hotter than hot, even; a stove in the atmosphere of the world. And there we stood in it, attempting to keep our backs ramrod straight despite the sting of the mosquitoes around us and the buzzing of the flies near our ears. The gnats landed upon our skin and pestered us, and here we stood, lined up and waiting for inspection. And there I stood in the midst of them.

My story isn't a likely one. I was always a lanky, puny, and, well... under-developed girl, which may have been due to the severe lack of food on the table. I was often mistaken for a boy when I was a child, because of my cropped hair and dirty trousers.

"Private Perconte, have you been blousing your trousers over your boots like a paratrooper?"

"No, sir!"

"Then explain the creases at the bottom."

There was a short silence, as Perconte attempted and failed to dig up an excuse.

"No excuse, sir!"

"Volunteering for the parachute infantry is one thing, Perconte, but you've got a long way to proving you belong here. Your weekend pass is revoked."

Meet Cpt. Sobel, general asshole and the man we recognized as the general asshole who was in charge.

What had I done, I wondered to myself as he marched around, trying to find fault with the men under his 'direction'. In the general shit state we were in, it wasn't hard. What had I done when I had joined the army?

I was too female. I had told the truth about my age and a falsehood about my sex - although it was never asked, since it was supposedly understood - and volunteered for paratroop infantry. After all, the only problem was the physical inspection, and in the state I was in, I had nothing of great importance to worry about.

"Name!"

The private said it so fast, I couldn't quite catch it, nor his face, since I was standing behind him. It almost sounded like he said 'Judge Fuzz.'

"Dirt in the rear side aperture, pass revoked."

And then he searched the ranks for someone else to pick on. I thought his eyes landed on me, for one instant, standing stiffly in the back, but his gaze either moved on or he never even saw me at all.

"When did you sew on these chevrons, Sergeant Lipton?"

"Yesterday, sir."

"Long enough to notice this." Sobel held up a single tan thread. "Revoked."

"Sir."

He continued pacing forward, raking his eyes over us in our discomfort.

"Name!"

"Malarkey, Donald G."

Malarkey, Donald G. took an unconscious step back from Sobel; so it wasn't just me and the bastard _did_ have personal space issues.

"Malarkey. Malarkey's slang for bullshit, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir!"

Sobel took his gun away from him, inspecting it for one split second.

"Rust on the buttplate hinge-spring, Private Bullshit. Revoked. Name!"

"Liebgott, Joseph D., sir."

Sobel immediately pulled Liebgott's bayonet out of its pocket, holding it up in front of his face.

"Rusty bayonet, Liebgott. You wanna kill Germans?"

"Yessir."

Sobel slapped him on the head with the fucking bayonet.

"Not with this."

Sobel marched to the front of the platoon, holding up the bayonet as an example as he continued yelling: "I wouldn't take this rusty piece of shit to war, and I will not take you to war in your condition." Thump. He threw the bayonet into the ground, blade digging into the Georgia dirt. "Now thanks to these men and their infractions, every man in the company who had a weekend pass has lost it. Change into your P.T. gear, we're running Currahee."

Shit.

"Second platoon, fall out, we have two minutes."

**Almost exactly two minutes later:**

"I ain't going up that hill."

A man burst through the door of the cabin, tying his shorts' drawstrings.

"Hey, Perconte, what are you thinking of, blousin' your pants?" He demanded, storming right past us, and

I looked up curiously as my nimble fingers tied my bootstrings.

"Shut up, Martin, alright? He gigged everybody." Perconte retorted.

"Yeah, well, you should know better. Don't give him no excuses!"

"Excuses? Why don't you come here, look at these trousers, get down and you tell me if there's a crease on 'em?"

"Alright, let's go, on the road in P.T. formation." Sergeant Lipton told us, realizing Perconte still had his jacket on while we shuffle-jogged out the door. "Perconte, let's go, Perconte." He said patiently, and that was the last I heard.

"Ah, Easy Company. Hey, while you're running, don't worry, we'll take your dames to the movies for ya!" A man called out from somewhere in front of us.

"Good, they need some female company." 'Liebgott, Joseph D., sir' retorted; the men in front started off running, grabbing the caps of the men who weren't in Easy Company, otherwise known as 'the men going into town'.

Jogging at the very, very back, I managed to escape scrutiny, even with my bandaged chest. I was too small in certain regions to be accused of being a girl and I had stuffed my pants, attempting to help myself keep disguised, if you know what I mean.

I was only lucky that I didn't have snow white cheeks that blushed with the tint of autumn or some shit like that; my eyes were dark hazel, almost green, almost brown, framed with long, dark eyelashes. Brown hair that turned golden in the sunlight with a bit of a red tint. Full lips, firm chin; in other words, I hadn't been caught because I was a Snow White imposter.

Of course, I highly doubted that Snow White would even consider being in a position where she's stuck running up a fucking mountain, listening to your CO of a Lieuteniant shouting out orders while running like a duck, surrounded by men, pretending to _be_ a man. Yes, definitely something Snow White would do.

"What does Currahee mean?" Sobel yelled, and about one hundred, thirty men shouted the reply back simultaneously.

"We stand alone!"

"Who are we?"

"Easy Company!"

"What do we do?"

"Stand alone!"

One man - I believe his name was something to do with Muck - came down on his ankle wrong, doubling over to clutch at it, but almost falling and hands extended down to help him.

"Do not help that man! Do not help that man!" Sobel. Sonofa...

The run up was long and grueling. Jogging at the speed of about 6 miles per hour, uphill the entire time for 3 solid miles, no breaks, no rests, no canteens; your muscles start to ache, your breath becomes ragged, and your determination to prove Sobel wrong increases.

"We do not stop! You've got 30 minutes to get to the top of this mountain if you want to serve in the paratroopers. Hi-ho, Silver!" Sobel somehow found the strength to speed up and forge into the steepening incline. Finally, some 20 impossibly long minutes after starting, I was almost to the top, and I could hear Sobel's voice, yelling out: "We are coming on 23 minutes! That may be good enough for the rest of the 506, but that is not good enough for Easy company!"

Lieuteniant Winters was encouraging the men as they clambered to the top to tag the stone Sobel was standing next to with a stopwatch. Through it all, I couldn't help but think one thing, during the very exhausting scramble up the final incline.

The man in front of me had a decidedly nice ass.


	2. 1: What's Your Name, Canteen?

**A/N;** It had sadly come to that time when I must disclaim: I do not own Band of Brothers.** Disclaim #2: **The stories in this are purely based on the mini-series, not the real life men, for whom I have the deepest respect. But, since nobody was married in the miniseries except, of course, Nix and Lip... ENJOY!

Hopefully, this will help you guys get just a tiny bit better of a feel of the OC. :)

**Chapter 2**** - What's Your Name, Canteen?**

It had been three weeks since I had arrived. I tried to remain inconspicuous and unknown by keeping the talking to a minimum and as such, my fellow men regarded me as if I had something mildly wrong with me. For instance... the plague.

That all changed, one day at lunch. I was contemplating the 'food' rather intently when I was kicked out of my eating trance by a voice. A rather unexpected voice, since I had made it rather clear to anyone that tried - I WAS NOT INTERESTED IN TALKING.

"What's your name?"

What's your name?

"A rather interesting and hard question to answer, that." I retorted before even so much as looking up or thinking. What's your name, my ass.

Glancing up, I half-recognized a man I'd seen somewhere before. He was probably from my barracks, which would make sense, as I almost made it a point to never keep track of all of the faces and names.

This man was a bit taller than me, by about 3 inches, since I was a shrimpy 'man'. I was probably the shortest person in the Service. He just looked at me for a moment, and I finally shrugged mentally. He looked like he wasn't going to go away until he knew my name at least, so I decided to humor him and spare myself some annoyance.

"Daniel Shoemaker. My friends call me Dani." The half lie came almost naturally as I lowered my normal voice intonations to sound more masculine. Half lie, half truth. Who said you can't mix good with bad?

"George Luz. Where you from?"

Oh. Judge Fuzz.

"Macon, Gawgia." I over-drawled, mocking the southern-fried. Another lie. "Ain't it obvious?"

He smiled a bit, but nodded. Not in agreement, but almost absently, as if it wasn't too bad of an imitation.

"West Warwick, Rhode Island."

"No way!" My face unintentionally lit up. "I was born there."

"No way."

"Yeah. It was my childhood home. My family moved... here a couple years back." Oh, fuck. I just couldn't keep my mouth shut, could I? Rather than concentrate on how many times I must have messed up on my lying skills in the past three minutes of conversation, I gave him a inconspicuous inspection.

George Luz. Large dark eyes, dark hair, a dimple when he smiled and sometimes when he talked.

He was a - fairly - nice guy, George Luz. Once the first awkward conversation was over, we became friends, due to who-the-hell-knows. As he was arguably the most popular fucker in the unit, it was now impossible to be 'inconspicuous and unknown'. Yeah. Thanks, George Luz, you funny little fucker.

The training was hard, obviously. It usually consisted of jumping off of a platform to practice landing fresh from an airplane, running over-slash-through a latice of ropes that were stretched tight with our hands behind our heads, crawling through tunnels, climbing over a log wall that was taller than us, crawling under wires, rolling through pig guts, crawling under more wires, and of course, running and marching Currahee, often double-time with a full pack.

One Friday night, we were marching along the road, almost back to the camp, completely dehydrated, when 'Bull' Randleman said something.

"I'mma say something."

Luz, who I was marching next to and was marching next to Bull, looked over at him with a smirk.

"To who?" He retorted.

"Lieuteniant Winters!"

"What is it?"

"Permission to speak, sir!"

"Permission granted."

"Sir, we got nine companies, sir."

"That we do."

"Why come we're the only company marchin' every Friday night, 12 miles, full pack in the pitch dark?"

"Why do you think, Private Randleman?"

"Lieuteniant Sobel hates us, sir."

"...Lieuteniant Sobel does not hate Easy Company, Private Randleman. He just hates you."

There was laughter.

"Thank you, _suh_!"

Not five minutes later, we were back at base, standing at attention, practically drooling from lack of water.

"Lieuteniant Winters, I want canteens out of belts with the caps unscrewed."

"Easy Company, canteens out and open."

Doing so, I gave the canteen a questioning look, but it didn't say anything, probably due to the fact that we were at attention.

"On my command, they will pour the contents onto the ground."

"On the CO's order, you will upend your canteen."

"Now, Lieuteniant."

"Pour 'em!"

I turned the open canteen upside down and gasped when I saw all that beautiful, sparkling, life-giving, thirst-quenching water fall out to splatter uselessly so the dirt could soak it up and I did my best to not look at the seeming river coming out of my canteen, but the sound of water hitting the ground deliciously could not be denied.

Sobel walked in front of us, viewing this display with something akin to glee. Then his eye caught on something in my direction and my breath hitched, afraid that I'd done something wrong or he'd heard about that joke I had told on his expense. He marched straight for me. My heart stopped beating. He went straight past me to the man behind me and I almost sighed in relief.

"Private Christenson! Why is there no water in your canteen? You DRANK from your canteen, didn't you?"

_Oh, shut the fuck up, Sobel. You yell too much._

"Sir, I was-"

"Lieuteniant Winters!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Was this man ordered to not drink from his canteen during the Friday night march?"

"He was, sir."

"Private Christenson, you had disobeyed a direct order. You will fill your canteen and repeat all 12 miles of the march immediately!"

"Yes, _sir_."

"FALL OUT!"

As Christenson hurried to do exactly what Sobel had told him to, I lowered my canteen, which, by this time, had run out of water. Oh, precious water, why hast thou abandoned me?

Sobel marched back to the front of the company, pointing to the ground where he wanted Winters to stand; quiet murmuring commenced. I didn't exactly strain my ears to hear it since I was commiserating with my canteen about how alll of the water was gone.

Suddenly, Sobel's voice raised.

"You're making me look bad, Lieuteniant. This is not _Dog _Company, this is not _Fox _Company, this, this is _Easy _Company! And under my command, this will be the first _and _finest company in this regiment!" Realizing this was actually an interesting conversation, I craned my ears for the next bit but couldn't hear it. Sobel finally stopped yelling and marched away, and we were dismissed. I went straight to bed after getting a very long drink of water.


	3. 1: The Pleasures of Blousing

**A/N: So... here it is!**

**Chapter 3**** - The Pleasures of Blousing**

There was a sudden noise to my left and my head jerked around, and there the man stood, gaping.

"Aw, shit." I groaned. "You mean I couldn't even make it six months without being discovered?"

Now, you're probably wondering how a smart girl like me got herself into this mess. It's really quite simple.

My chest bandage? Was coming undone. Right before a ball game. One that was bound to be vigorous, might I add. So, it was simple: I waited until everyone else was out of the cabin, knelt down with my back towards the door, took my shirt off, and proceeded to fix the bandage. That is, until the door opened and I turned my head, knowing I was busteddddddd.

"You're - you're..."

If he was a girl, he probably would have fainted on the spot, he was so stunned. His mouth was hanging open, his jaw slack, and his posture as close to hunched as you can come in the Service.

_He sat with Luz almost every day. Their beds were next to each other's, so by rights they should become friends. It helped that they were both troublemakers._

_He had been one of the first ones to try to initiate conversation with me and had been one of the first ones that I was finally such a prick to, he didn't try to talk to me again and told all the men what I'd told him. But Luz wouldn't let me sit by myself, oh no, sit next to him, I must._

_The first thing he had said when he had looked at me was: "What's he doing here?"_

_Yeah. He didn't exactly like me at first. He finally warmed up to me when I helped him sneak a bit of the men's mail to them, since, of course, the newly promoted Captain Sobel had been given free reign to do what he wanted in terms of training us and confiscated personal mail/correspondences with loved ones back home (especially the ones wearing perfume). Training? More like torturing._

_I, of course, had my own theory that the reason Cpt. Sobel didn't like the men corresponding with "people wearing perfume" was because he was simply jealous since it seemed highly and horribly ridiculous to think Sobel had ever had anyone write to him and spray the letter with perfume, let alone a female - even his own mother. But that's a different story._

Perconte, of course, the unfaithful little wretch, told Johnny Martin, who told Sergeant Lipton, who told Lieuteniant Winters, who told Captain Sobel, who told... Colonel Sink.

Oh. Shit. News travels fast in a company of men who had nothing better to do with their time and the rank can only get higher when the news is astounding. I was summoned to Col. Sink's office to stand at attention and hope desperately the fact that I was quaking in my boots wouldn't show.

There was silence for a moment.

"What's your name? Your real name."

I coughed slightly in the back of my throat.

"Shoemaker, sir. Dani Shoemaker."

He looked at me for a moment, scrutinizing me to my very core.

_Shitshitshit._

"Why did you join the Airborne, Dani?"

"I didn't want to see my little brother starve, sir. I figured it was worth a shot."

"So you're telling me you're supporting a little brother back home?"

"Yessir."

Plus aunt and I wasn't the only one helping out (far from it), but I decided to leave those particulars out.

"Private Shoemaker, you have been here for almost six months, and are now very close to achieving your jumpwings, correct?"

"Yessir."

"This-"

Just then, there came a rap at the door and at Sink's command, a man came in, reporting a phone call on the line.

Colonel Sink nodded to me.

"We shall continue this some other time, Private. Dismissed."

I saluted then hurried out of his office, down the hall, out of the building, practically jogging in my haste to get out before he could change his mind and call me back.

At first, the men only stared at me and whispered, so I just let them talk about me and get it over with.

You'd have thought they were in highschool. But then they started to accept the fact that I was a girl, and since Col. Sink didn't mention it again or call me to his office, they were kind of stuck with me for the present.

**...**

About two weeks later, I went through the fast-paced food line, looking with wide eyes at the hunk of bread on the side of a pile of noodles and red glop they called sauce. Holy shit. Food?

Scrambling over to the bench where Luz and Perconte had just sat down, I sidled through until reaching an open spot next to Perconte (after he decided that I had certain benefits he didn't, he was fine with me, since he could always find something to black-mail me with so I would help him do something I could black-mail him with so he would help me do something he could-okay, you get the point, we were friends, finally), settling down and preparing to gobble whatever-the-hell-was-on-my-plate down.

"This stuff is orange. Spaghetti ain't supposed to be orange." The fellow across from Luz commented as I shoveled another mouthful of whatever-the-hell-was-on-my-plate into my face.

"This ain't spaghetti. This is army noodles with ketchup." Perconte replied from next to me and Bill Guarnere shuffled through the crowded benches to get the seat next to me.

"You ain't gotta eat it." He told Frank. I grinned. I liked Bill: his accent always cheered me up and he had a rather bawdy sense of humor.

"Oh, come on, Gonorrhea, as a fellow Italian, you should know calling this crap 'spaghetti' is a mortal sin."

"You don't want it, I'll have it." Hoobler leaned over Perconte's shoulder and tried to take his plate, but Perco snatched it back.

"Nonono, I'm eating here!"

A whistle blew out shrilly, catching us all by surprise and I froze, my fork halfway to my mouth.

"ORDER'S CHANGED, GET UP!"

We all shot up out of our seats, standing straight and tall, despite the yearning to return to our seat and finish the plate of 'it's-a-mortal-sin-if-you-call-that-crap-spaghetti', but Sobel's voice rang out again.

"LECTURES ARE CANCELLED, EASY COMPANY IS RUNNING UP CURRAHEE. MOVE, MOVE! THREE MILES UP, THREE MILES DOWN. HI-HO, SILVERRRR!"

Fifteen minutes later, I heard the delicious (not) sound of someone throwing up.

"You are a wash-out, Private Hoobler! You should pack up both your ears and go home!"

I gritted my teeth as Sobel - The Asshole sped up to taunt those in the front of the company.

"Looks like Gordon's done, aren't you, Gordon? You finished? You do not deserve to get your wings."

I set my lips tighter and kept my pace up, realizing I was at the front of the company and thus qualified for taunting and my gaze flattened out to the path ahead of me, determined to prove that sonofabitch wrong, to finish this with flying colors.

"Shoemaker, you're not good enough! You'll never be accepted as able. You might as well just give up, Shoemaker."

Bullshit. I'd survived the past few months, I could survive this. Not seeing any change in my expression except a hardening countenance, he moved on.

"Private Randleman, you look tired! There's an ambulance waiting for you at the bottom of the hill. It can all be over right now-no more pain, no more Currahee, no more Captain Sobel."

From beside me, George started singing and I picked it up on about the second word, right before everyone else joined in.

_We pull upon the risers,_

_We fall upon the grass._

_We never land upon our feet,_

_We always hit our ass._

_Hi-hi, Christ Almighty,_

_Who the hell are we?_

_Zim-zam, gahdamn,_

_We're Airborne Infantry!_

_We pull upon the risers,_

_We fall upon the grass._

_We never land upon our feet,_

_We always hit our ass._

_Hi-hi, Christ Almighty,_

_Who the hell are we?_

_Zim-zam, gahdamn,_

_We're Airborne Infantry!_

Then, I looked down. And I realized something. Luz had THE very nice ass.

However, despite all these touching thoughts, probably the best-remembered moment at Toccoa was Thanksgiving Day. Col. Sink had issued an order-more like a reprieve - that on Thanksgiving Day, the regiment could eat, relax, purr, and be happy felines.

Major Strayer decided it was time for a holiday of a different sort: a two-day field excercise for 2nd Battalion, yours truly. Long marches, an attack against a defended position, a gas alarm in the middle of the night, and an introduction to k rations. Strayer decided to make it even better and stretch wires across a field, about 2 and a half feet off the ground. Machine-gunners were over the top of the wires as the men crawling underneath got to discover that Strayer had spread the ground with the insides of freshly slaughtered pigs-hearts, lungs, guts, livers, the works.

I adored showers after that.

A day or so before we left Toccoa to head to Fort Benning, Col. Sink just so happened to read an article that said a Japanese army battalion had set a world record for marching endurance by covering 100 miles in seventy-two hours. And of course, we simply couldn't let the Japs be the best at anything that had to do with an army, military, navy, air domination... make that anything to do with fighting.

When we heard we were leaving Toccoa, we had cheered, of course. We just never figured on marching 118 miles to merry Atlanta just so we could beat the Japs' new record. So 1st Battalion took the train to Fort Benning, 3rd took the train to Atlanta, and 2nd got to march all the happy, singing, warm-hearted way simply because of the magnificent shape we were in. At that moment, we all sincerely loved Maj. Strayer, and anyone else we could grumble about and lay the blame on.

At 0700, December 1st, Dog, Easy, Fox, and Battalion HQ Companies set out, each man wearing all his gear and carrying his weapon. The riflemen were off easy compared to Gordon, who carried a machine-gun, or Malarkey, who was in the mortar squad.

Strayer had managed to choose the route that had 100 miles of back-country, unpaved roads and horrible weather: freezing rain, some snow making for slippery roads. After half a day of this shit, we learned to count the minutes before our next break.

To say it was miserable would be to say the least: endurance didn't mean enduring through sniffing the daisies. Endurance meant you were trying to prove that you were some of the toughest sonsofbitches out there.

We marched all day, through twilight, until utter dark when the rain and snow stopped and the wind picked up.

By 2300 hours, we had covered 40 miles, Strayer finally picking the campsite, a bare and windswept hill that was devoid of trees and bushes but had plenty of freezing cold tufts of grass. The temperature only kept dropping. We eagerly anticipated a hot meal, but the cooks couldn't get the field stoves started and we were served bread smeared with butter and jam.

We awoke at promptly 0600 hours to find everything covered in frost, boots and socks frozen solid. We had to take the shoestrings out of the boots to get the damn things onto our swollen feet. Rifles, mortars and machine-guns were frozen to the ground.

We marched onwards that second day, and even though it took a bit for our protesting muscles to warm up, the third day was by far the worst I had ever experienced. We had covered 80-some miles, with approximately 38 left to travel and the last 20 being on the highway leading into Atlanta.

Marching in mud had been hard enough, but the cement was horrible. That night, we camped out on the grounds of Oglethorpe University, a college on the outskirts of Atlanta. Eager for the chance to rest, we set up our pup tents and lay down to rest until the word came that the food was ready. Malarkey, who had pitched his pup tent next to mine, couldn't stand and crawled on his hands and knees to the chow line. Winters took a single glance in his direction and told him to ride with an ambulance to the final destination, downtown Atlanta, the next morning. I went to go see him, figuring if I could still stumble around on the feet I no longer recognized, I could spare a few moments of pain for a friend.

"Hey Malark."

"Hey Dani."

"How're you feeling?"

"How's everyone _else_ feeling?" He retorted, and I grimaced at his good point.

"You have eyes."

"I'll be fine."

I nodded slightly, knowing that even if his feet had been blown out from underneath him, that would have been the response I recieved.

There were some other examples of what walking too much in horrible conditions does to you, but Malarkey was the worst, and yet, in the morning, he decided he could make it (as did nearly all the others).

We were met a mile from our final destination by a band that, apparently, Strayer had arranged for. When we heard the music, the men straightened up as if the pain was totally gone, and we marched on to finish the march with pride running through every drop of blood in our bodies. It was a glorious thing, and almost like a phenomenon. To know that people knew about it, that we were making history, that the people were behind us was more powerful than anything I had known yet. I didn't want to let those same people down.

We covered 118 miles in 75 hours, 33 hours and 30 minutes of which had been actual marching time. 12 men weren't able to complete the march out of the 586 that had started out from Toccoa and Lieuteniant Moore's 3rd Platoon of Easy was the only one in the battalion that was able to complete it without losing a single man so, as a reward, it led the parade through the city.

If anything, Fort Benning was even more miserable a place than Toccoa, especially the Frying Pan, which was where the jump training took place. We of Easy Company took great and mighty comfort in the fact that we were actually training to become paratroopers, not just building our muscles.

To my delight, I heard that the first of four training stages had been cancelled for 506th because the darling 1st Battalion had utterly embarassed the jumpmaster sergeants. Apparently, it was so bad that the jumpmaster sergeants told the CO that 506th was in much better physical shape than they were, so all the companies of 506th just went straight in on Stage B, saving us a week of useless "physical training".

It had taken them two days to reach that decision.

I found myself standing in a rumbling plane, hooked up to the line, preparing to jump out of an airplane for the first time while wondering for the first time in six months if I was completely insane or had a death wish.

_"So do we feel ready enough to be army paratroopers?"_

_"Yes, Sergeant!" We all replied from where we were sitting on the ground._

_"I hope so. This'll be the first of five exits from a C-47 aircraft scheduled for today. Upon successful completion of your fifth and final jump, you'll be certified army paratroopers. There'll be alot of men dropping from the sky today... hopefully under deployed canopies. Jumping from one thousand feet AGL in sticks of twelve jumpers per aircraft. All you have to do is remember what you were taught and I guarantee you gravity will take care of the rest. And gentlemen, rest assured, any refusals on the aircraft or at the door, and I guarantee you, you __**will**__ be out of the Airborne."_

I hadn't come this far to chicken out just because I was afraid of jumping out of a little plane.

"GET READY! STAND UP! HOOK UP!"

Standing up, I quickly hooked up the line that was attached to the cover of my backpack, making sure the safety was closed, my hands almost shaking nervously. After a week at the towers, which was Stage C, we were finally ready for the final test: jumping out of a real airplane, with a real parachute, with a real terrified feeling in our stomachs.

"CHECK EQUIPMENT!" I quickly checked the man's equipment in front of me, nodding slightly to myself when I saw it was all in order.

"SOUND OFF FOR EQUIPMENT CHECK!"

I suddenly realized I wanted to piss before I jumped out of an airplane. Of course, everyone else had managed to go about three times while we were waiting, but not me, oh no. I hadn't needed to go, but it's funny how much your perspective on things can change once you're realizing this sensation of fear might be one of the last ones you feel.

"Nine okay!"

Too late.

"Eight okay!"

"Seven okay!"

"Six okay!"

"Five okay!"

Someone roughly slapped my arm, telling me it was 1) my turn to yell out and that 2) my equipment was in good order.

"Four okay!" I shouted at the top of my lungs.

"Three okay!"

"Two okay!"

"One okay!"

"STAND IN THE DOOR!"

I really, really wanted to pee.

"GO, GO, GO!"

Sarge Guarnere jumped out. Then Perco. Then the guy in front of me, whose name I had suddenly forgotten. Then it was my turn. Petrified and hyper-sensitive, I could almost feel it when the light next to me turned from red to green, signaling for me to jump.

"GO!"

I needed no further command. Without thinking, I jumped out of the aircraft and automatically fell into position as we had all those times we'd jumped off the platform.

For three very unholy seconds, I felt myself free-falling through the air, and I swore rather vigorously before my fast descent towards the unforgiving earth abruptly slowed and I looked up to see my 'chute working perfectly.

And I _still_ needed to piss.

"Dani, you should have seen the look on your face!" Perconte whooped as the air filled with exhilarated shouts of the still-alive-and-floating-underneath-deployed-canopies men.

"Yeah, no shit, Perco." I retorted. "At least I didn't piss in the air!"

"That's what you want us to think!"

The second time was better, since this time I knew to find the latrine several times before I even set foot aboard the airplane and I wasn't quite as afraid. I had done it once, I could do it again, but the real question was: did Fate take dares lightly? Jumping out of an airplane twice in the same day felt like pushing my luck, which I told Perco, once he had stopped teasing me about the explitives I had uttered.

The feeling of being in the air was amazing, once you got past the initial feeling of fear and apprehension of there not being any solid ground underneath your feet to catch you when you jumped out until it was too late. Once you were safely on the ground, you thought about jumping and you wanted to do it again and again.

On December 6th, 1942, the fifth and final jump, we each recieved a certificate stating our ableness as an enlisted paratrooper, and the pinning of our jumpwings, the moment of glory that may as well have been handed to us on a silver platter while Col. Sink said: "Here is what you have been working for for the past six months." It was a moment no one could take away from you, an achievement that you had conquered all by yourself and yet, surrounded by your friends, who may as well have been brothers.

In celebration of the fact we could now blouse our pants, a party was thrown in our very own honor. I was leaning on the bar's counter, watching the goings-on in amusement while sipping from my beer.

Perco made a beeline for Martin, who was blousing his pants.

"Now just think," Perc said, "if you had any class or style like me, someone mighta mistaken you for somebody."

"You mean like your fucking sergeant?" Martin replied, turning his arm so Perc could clearly see the chevrons. Perc immediately turned meek.

"I'm jus' kiddin'."

I chortled to myself, raising my glass to take another gulp before realizing my glass was now empty and the beer was, in fact, already in my stomach. Turning, I set my cup down on the counter rather loudly and called: "Ohhh, waiterrrr!"

Luz gave me a mock-glare, but gave me another beer all the same. I only winked at him before turning to look at Joe Toye, who had just appeared at my side.

"'Ey, Joe."

"'Ey Dani." He slouched onto the counter, looking down at the floor, waiting for George to come back over, which he did.

"Corporal Toye, there will be no leaning in my company!" He said, in a Sobel impression. "Are those dusty jumpwings? How do you expect to slay the Huns with _dust_ on your jumpwings?" Joe blew on the 'wings and thumbed them, then grabbed George by the shirt.

"Luz. Just gimme a drink."

George grinned, his eyes crinkling up.

"Hell of an idea, Joe." He pulled a full cup from beneath the counter and raised his own three-quarters gone glass. "There you go. Three miles up, three miles down." I added my own glass to that toast, and we started to drink before...

"'Tennn hut!"

We all shot straight up, putting our glasses down and cutting off what we were saying mid-sentence. The three men marched onto the small stage.

"Well at ease, paratroopers." Col. Sink said, his eyes twinkling in good humor. We all shifted onto two spread feet, hands behind our backs, eyes on him. "Good evening, Easy Company."

"Evening, sir!" We replied like a bunch of parachuting zombies with beer.

"Now, parachute infantry is a brand new concept in American military history. But by God, the 506 is gonna forge that brand new concept into victory!" We all liked that statement. "I want you to know I'm damn proud of each and every one of you." For a second there, his eyes settled on me. "Now, you deserve this party." He was handed a glass of beer. "Thank you, Sergeant Grant."

"Sir."

"So I want you to have fun, and remember our motto: CURRAHEE!"

"CURRAHEE!" We drank to that.


	4. 1: HiHo, Silver!

**A/N: I'm so excited! I'm about to go see Robin Hood. Russell Crowe, Scott Grimes & Cate Blanchett, directed by Ridley freaking Scott. Could it get any better? I think not.**

**Chapter 4 - Hi-Ho, Silver!**

**Camp Mackall, N.C.:**

I was innocently kneeling there, keeping my eyes up the sloping hill in hopes that some idiot officer would decide to come charging down it, when I heard Sobel's voice: "Petty! Map! Come on!" Glancing with the sides of my eyes, I saw Sobel's face and repressed the groan that rose inside of me as Petty hurried over with the map, which Sobel hurriedly checked, then glanced back up again.

"We're in the wrong position." Sobel had taken to wearing a fighter pilot's jacket, instead of the regulation paratrooper's uniform. If asked, I would have said it looked 'mawvelous' in a rather sarcastic Southern drawl which usually signaled that I was pissed or amused.

Lieuteniant Winters slid down into the ditch from where he had been crouching on top of it, thus qualifying him for whatever major bullshit would come out of Sobel's mouth next.

"We're in the wrong position." He repeated.

"We're textbook position for ambush, sir. We should sit tight, let the enemy team come within our killing zone."

"They're right out there somewhere. Let's just get 'em!"

I could tell even by his voice, he was freaking out.

"Sir, we have perfect cover here."

"Lieuteniant, deploy your troops."

"Second platoon!" Winters hissed. "Move out! Tactical column."

Obediently, I got up, falling into place, and starting to follow Sobel, ever the genuis. We hadn't been walking for more than fifteen seconds when suddenly, the brush on the hill in front of us moved, and the last thing we wanted to see arose from the perfect hiding place. Along with them was the leader of the drill, a major whose name escaped me at the moment.

"Captain, you've just been killed, along with ninety-five percent of your company. Your outfit?"

_Tailored by the best, sir, thank you. No, really, they just handed me these and said I was going to a fucking wedding. _I thought to myself, trying to direct my sarcasm in other directions than out-of-my-mouth.

"Easy Company, 2nd Battalion, 506th."

"Leave three wounded men on the ground and report back to the assembly area."

Sobel hissed a curse, turned around, and pointed to two men with his pistol.

"You, you, you."

I had the misfortune of being the third 'you'. With a sigh, I dramatically flopped to the ground as soon as the lucky unpicked ones followed Sobel back to the assembly area. I had to stay out of it for a few days before joining back with the company, and as a wounded 'you' returning to pump my fist in victory, I was greeted somewhat enthusiastically.

"Where were you injured, Peanut?"

Peanut. The nickname they gave me because I was so short compared to them.

"In your balls, Martin." I retorted, giving him a half-glare. I was happy to be back, despite the teasing.

Of course, there was talk amongst the men about how the men higher up certainly didn't like Sobel's antsy miss-step, if you could call it that by way of under-exaggerating. While I had been gone, we had gained a new officer: Lieuteniant Harry Welsh, from the 82nd. I heard a story that he had been a sergeant three times before getting his OCs but had kept getting busted to Pvt. because he kept getting in fights.

Soon after, we moved out of Mackall. While the trucks were being loaded and men were throwing their bags aboard, I was sitting with Joe Toye, "Popeye" Wynn, Roy Cobb, and "Shifty" Powers. Everyone was talking about how they could 'accidentally' kill Sobel once they got into combat. Not just because we hated him - we had to, if we wanted to stay alive.

"He's gonna get killed, and take us down with him."

"Shut up, Cobb." Joe growled in his usual Joe-growl, but this time he was rather in his I-don't-want-to-hear-this-bullshit mood.

"Eh. You gotta admit, he's got no chance. Either the Krauts'll get him... or one of us."

Joe Liebgott plopped his bag down next to Cobb and sat on it.

"Who, Sobel?" He asked. Cobb nodded.

"He screwed up one manuever." Shifty said, tearing apart pieces of grass with his hands.

"Well, you know I'm always fumbling with grenades. It'd be easy if one went off by accident, you know?"

"Well. Now, they musta put him in charge for a reason." Shifty replied.

"Yeah, cause the army wouldn't make a mistake, right, Shift?"

"What do you think, Dani?" Shift asked me and I shrugged lightly.

"If that son of a bitch gets us killed and he survives, I'm coming back to haunt him into his grave. He won't be able to sleep because I'll be doing drills next to his bed all night."

"I'll come to your funeral." Lieb told me, winking cheerfully. I mock-scowled back at him.

We all piled into the trucks and headed off, not sure of where we were going, only knowing it would be somewhere other than where we had been. Unless, of course, they just drove around in circles all day, right?

When we jumped out of the trucks, there, in front of our eyes, was a train depot. So, we were going far enough that it would need a train. This was good news.

It ended up taking us to Kentucky, where we made a very short two-month pit-stop, so that they could train us some more before shipping us out to Camp Shanks in New York, when, after some final processing, we were, at last, herded into a shipyard, by which point it was early September.

As "Cpt., commanding", Sobel had the immense pleasure of writing and signing the exact same letter to all of the platoon's parents, which I was sure he was oh, so pleased about.

While we boarded the boats, I took a look around, whistling in half surprise, half I-knew-it.

"Holy shit, this place is swarming with fucking soldiers!" I commented to Perconte, who just nodded absently. I didn't mind. I hadn't exactly said it to start a conversation.

Everyone crowded around the rails for a glimpse of Lady Liberty as we passed her, standing tall and right outside of New York, before we headed down to the already-bustling sleeping quarters, which were, of course, huge, over-crowded and very hot from all the body heat emanating from male soldiers. I was trusting all the men from Easy Company to not let it slip that I was a female. If the others knew, well. There'd probably be a stampede to my bunk, which just happened to be one of the top ones.

"Right now, some lucky bastard's headed for the South Pacific, oh, what I'd give. He's gonna get billeted on some tropical island..." Muck rambled as he squeezed through the many pairs of boots and bodies and whatnot to get back to his bunk.

"Keep talking." Malarkey encouraged, right on Muck's heels.

"Sit under a palm tree with six naked native girls, helping him cut up coconuts so he can hand-feed them to the flamingos."

"Flamingos are mean; they bite." A soldier I didn't recognize said to Sisk, who was sitting on his bunk.

"So do the naked native girls." Sisk replied.

Perconte, who was passing by, added his own voice to the mix: "With any luck."

"Hey, guys, I'm glad I'm going to Europe." Joe Toye put in, pulling out his pocket knife. "Hitler gets one of these right across the windpipe, Roosevelt changes Thanksgiving to Joe Toye Day and pays me ten grand a year for the rest of my fucking life."

"Ay, don't forget dinner at the White House! And you better invite me, Joseph Toye." I called down.

"What if we don't get to Europe? What if they send us to North Africa?" Smokey Gordon asked from where he was situated in the bunk above the conversation I was listenin to as I hung my head off the side of the bunk backwards.

"My brother's in North Africa; he says it's hot." Guarnere added.

"Really? It's hot in Africa?" Malarkey retorted, and I laughed. Don Malarkey. He'd been picked on that first at-attention Sobel made us stand through. Red hair, brown eyes (I thought), and a nice personality. No, seriously.

"Shuddup." Bill Guarnere told him. "Point is, it don't matter where we go. Once we get into combat, the only person you can trust is yourself and the fellow next to ya." Bill Guarnere. Rather angular chin, dark hair, South Philly resident, spoke with a strong accent so you always knew it was Bill Guarnere speaking. His nickname: 'Gonorrhea', since it and his last name sounded so much alike.

"Hey, as long as he's a paratrooper." Joe Toye. Dark hair, large dark eyes, low and rather husky voice.

"Oh yeah? What if that paratrooper turns out to be Sobel?" Luz, climbing up the bunks to his very own, put in his own two cents as he almost crawled right onto my face. "Oh, hello. Do you mind?" He said to me, and I grinned, getting up from where I had been lying across his bunk and moving over onto my own, which was right next to his, settling for hearing the conversation instead of watching it happen.

"-Moving on down the line, hook up with some other officer, like Heyliger or Winters." Someone in the bunk below mine was saying.

"I like Winters. He's a good man." Guarnere admitted. "But when the bullets start flying, I don't know if I want a Quaker to do my fighting for me."

"How do you know he's a Quaker?" Muck asked curiously.

"He ain't Catholic."

"Neither is Sobel." Malarkey pointed out.

"That prick's a son of Abraham." Guarnere shot back.

"He's what?" Liebgott questioned, and I winced. Lieb could be rather sensitive. I had found that out the hard way. Popping my head up and over Luz to watch, I observed the situation, giving a few slitting motions across my throat to Bill, telling him not to go there, and he ignored me, the wise one.

"He's a Jew." Guarnere repeated without the terms. Liebgott threw his cigarette down and jumped down from his bunk, right as the hand supporting myself collapsed from underneath me and I fell straight onto Luz's stomach and legs. Yeah, that was totally unawkward.

"Oh fuck... I'm a Jew!" Lieb's boots landed on the floor, and I shot back up, leaning on both hands as I kneeled on the bars

"Congratulations. Get your nose out of my face." Guarnere said, pushing Liebgott out of his personal space bubble and fists started flying. As more bodies joined the mesh struggling to hold the two apart, I groaned in discomfort. The blood had all gone to my head.

"Luz. A little help here please."

After he helped me get out of my rather uncomfortable position, I immediately drew back into my own half of the structure, flopping back into my bunk and rolling over to bury my head in my knapsack, which I was using for a pillow.

"You alright?" Luz asked me, and I nodded, rubbing my face into the bag.

"Yeah." Came my muffled reply before I sat up. "You think we should intervene?"

"Nah. I don't feel like climbing back up here."

After a few minutes, it still wasn't over, so I had to roll my eyes, climb down, and start talking to Lieb about how Guarnere was a bull-headed idiot who hadn't meant to insult Lieb or his religion and how it wasn't worth it and Lieb shouldn't let it get under his skin, all while he struggled against my restraining hands.

It helped, somewhat, despite the multiple face-in-chest plants I had to suffer. Finally, after a few more minutes of it, I was able to climb back up, smiling triumphantly over the fact that I could go to sleep knowing Bill or Lieb didn't have a broken nose.

Someone somewhere got their thirsty hands on some whiskey and shared rather thoroughly. The men, being used to beer, got wasted. Bull Randleman found Christenson making out with the toilet. The next morning, the bunks were a miserable affair. The only thing you could hear were the moans of a massive hangover. Of course, I, being the goody-goody, had known exactly what the whiskey would do and drunk only a bit of it. I was a bit too smart for my own good, since as I went around trying to take care of everyone, they cursed me for not making them listen to me. Bastards. We had to take the Screaming Eagle patch of the 101st off our shoulders because enemies might see it and know an airborne was shipping out and preparing to do something about the war.

The Samaria had been an Indian mail liner and passenger ship converted to a troop transport. The ship was originally intended to hold a thousand passengers. She carried five thousand to bonny ol' England.

To describe the greasy stairs down to the mess hall that never seemed to end, then when they did, the stench from the aptly named mess hall almost overpowered you, would be aimless and disgraced as an underexaggeration. The food was horrible-boiled fish and tomatoes-but we ate the awful shit anyway because we were hungry.

Our only entertainment consisted of walking the decks, leaning on the rails while watching the convoy, and gambling, the last the most liked of course. The gambling never stopped, it was continuous: poker, blackjack, craps. Poker and I got along excellently, blackjack I was fair at, and craps...

"'Ey, Dani!" Luz called from where he was sitting on the deck with a group of men from another company.

"Yeah, boy?"

"You know how to play craps?"

I looked at him for a moment. He knew as well as I did-dames didn't play craps.

"Not yet." I replied, strolling over and sitting down. "Teach me." So he did.

Large amounts of money changed hands quickly. A man would be lucky and his winnings would be over a hundred one night, then lose it all the next day. We had very few books, so reading was out. Sobel tried to lead us in calisthenics, but there wasn't any room and we just laughed at it.

I learned craps quickly, but I was as yet mastering it. I would win money in poker, blast it all away on craps, borrow some from George, get some of my former dough back and pay him with a little interest, which he quickly burned and borrowed what little I had left. The cycle went on and on.

On September 15, we landed in Liverpool, England, greeted by German radio saying clearly: "Welcome, the 101st Airborne," and I cursed, thinking that we had given up our boots and patches just to try and fool the Germans... who hadn't been fooled. They knew we were there, they just didn't know what our plans were. The next day, we boarded a train that took us south. Trucks picked us up at the Ogbourne St. George station and transported us to our new home except the last mile-and-a-half, which we had to march. By this time, it was night, and we only had flashlights to show us where we were going and where we would be staying for the next bit of time before someone decided to do something with us. Getting to our barracks (nissen huts heated by twin potbellied stoves), we were given mattress covers (and told we could stuff a certain pile of straw into them), wool blankets (that were heavy and itchy) and we went to our (rather uncomfortable) beds.

The next morning found us finding ourselves in Aldbourne, England, training once again. Hand-to-hand combat, bayonets, magnetic declination, digging foxholes while learning the basic types of fighting positions, getting familiar with German weapons, and the occasional manuever lecture while we prepared to "kill or capture that German." Bayonets unsettled me, however. The thought that I would plunge a knife into another man's body was not the best thing that had ever crossed my mind and at first, it made me feel rather queasy. Gunwounds, sure, but a knife stuck on the end of a rifle? Let's re-think that one, chaps.

Being able to go to pubs again was excruciatingly delicious, except for the beer. Heated, horrid Limey beer, that's what it was. I also couldn't raise any hell: the Aldbourne people were more apt to sit and drink their beer quietly, so that's what we did.

We learned to drink like the Brits drank, eat like the Brits ate, but there was no way in hell I was going to start smoking like the Brits did. Every week, we were given seven packs of cigarettes, three candy bars, one pack of gum, one cake of soap, and one package of razor blades. I was finally able to shave my legs again, since I actually went into town to buy myself a razor. The cigarettes, I gave away, since I didn't smoke.

The first weekend we were there, we got passes to go to Swindon for a dance. It was Saturday night, but Sobel just didn't want to let us off so he put out a regulation: no man would take his blouse off while dancing.

Someone did.

His name was Burgess, from Illinois. He apparently was dancing and dancing in a wool shirt with a wool blouse over it is horrible, so he took the blouse off.

Sobel called him out on it and made him wear the fatigues all week while he was sleeping, walking, everything. Burgess decided not to wear it while he was sleeping, and Sobel called him out on that one when he went to go get a pass for that Saturday night's dance. He didn't get a pass.

Most of the Brit boys were off in Italy, and so there were very lonely and unattached women all over the place. The beer was cheap and plentiful, even if it was overly warm. In other words, Aldbourne was amazingly a relief from Toccoa, even if England wasn't America. I watched the boys have a good time with their ladies and I didn't really have anyone to drink my beer with at night, so I drunk it alone and quietly like a good girl should in the eyes of the Brit, went to home and bed early, waiting for the days I would have my raising-hell-with companions back from the recieving arms of the Brit ladies.

"Why is there a fence here? There should be no fence here." The object of Sobel's horror was a barbwire fence, encircling a cow pasture so the cows did not, in fact, escape. "TIPPER!" Sobel yelled, turning in search of Pvt. Tipper, who was holding the map and standing right next to him.

"Yessir."

"GIMME THE - map." He looked at it for a second, then back at us. "Perconte, Luz. Get the men... get 'em b... take cover behind those trees!" Sobel pointed to the only stand of trees in immediate reach on this side of the barbwire fence.

"Perconte." I said as we obediently hustled across the field and 'behind those trees'.

"Yeah?"

"Sobel's lost again, right?"

"Yeah, he's lost. 'Ey, Luz! Luz!" Frank Perconte. Dark-ish skin, eyes so dark you couldn't tell pupils from iris, dark hair, small-ish, you get the idea.

"Uh?" George appeared next to me, looking to Perconte, who was looking at him with an expression that could only be described as geniusly enlightened.

"Can you do Major Horton?"

"Does a wild bear crap in the woods, son?" George replied, his impression of the Major answer enough.

There were loud snickers all around, which Perconte hurriedly shushed.

After all that black-mail material, I was catching onto what Perconte's evil ideas consisted of so I chimed in: "Maybe the good major can goose this schmuck, get us moving?"

"No, no way, I'm not gonna-"

Immediately, voices came from all around.

"Oh yeah, yes-"

"You gotta, you gotta-"

"What're you talkin' 'bout-" He protested, but it didn't last long.

"Luz, you got it, you got it. Come on." Skip Muck pleaded.

He looked at me for a moment, silent me who hadn't said a word to convince him into it, with my grin plastered all over my face, my eyes begging him to do it, he looked at me and his dimple appeared.

"Alright, just this once." Finally relenting, he 'shh'ed all the guys who were going into quiet jubilee (particularly Skip, who patted his helmet rather loudly), cleared his throat, and got ready.

"Is there a problem, Cpt. Sobel?" He called out in Major Horton's voice.

"Who said that? Who broke silence?" Sobel's voice demanded back, and we waited for a few seconds, listening intently, George patting me on the back as I eased my helmet off so I could hear what was going on better, since I had the best ears of the group. I shook my head, unable to hear anything, so I clapped my helmet back on and moved to the side a few feet beyond the very edge of the company, where I could juuust see Cpt. Sobel and the other two but they couldn't tell that I was actually spying on them. I was conveniently ignoring George and Frank hissing my name and telling me to get my ass back there next to them.

It looked like Sobel was freaking out, so I gave George the thumbs-up.

"What is the gawdamned hold-up, Mister Sobel?"

While the rest of us choked on our laughter, Sobel's reply came floating back, this time with the proper respect befitting Major Horton, who was not present.

"A fence, sir, a..." Pause. "A barbwire fence."

"Oh, that dog just ain't gonna hunt!" He had to quiet the guys around him before he could continue. "Now you cut that fence and get this gawdamn platoon on the move!"

"Yes, sir!"

I took one last look at Sobel going on a mad rabbit hunt for some wire cutters, then I crawled back to the others while trying to keep a leash on the laughter that threatened to bubble forth.

**...**

An elderly man peddled his bicycle up a minor incline, creaking to a halt when he saw uniforms crossing the street, not twenty feet in front of him.

"Dearie me." He murmured to himself, turning back to go the way he came, "Bloody hell," stopping the momentum with his feet to turn back around again, cut off by the men carrying metal and wearing screaming eagle patches. Once again, he turned the corner, to see more coming towards him, past him.

Raising his hands in mock surrender as one with the bars of lieuteniant on his helmet stopped next to him, he said wryly: "You've done it now, Yanks! You've captured me!"

The lieuteniant beside him chuckled and looked down to check his watch, just as a battle cry rang out from the distance.

"Hi-ho, Silverrrrr!"

They turned to watch more men in uniform come running up the road, too late for tea.

"Would that be the enemy?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

**...**

The next few events were real doozies of drama. Winters was court-martialed for some bullshit story Sobel had come up with and requested trial by court-martial but got put in as mess officer while Strayer figured things out, therefore making it a possibility that Winters couldn't make the jump, which meant Sobel, alone, no Winters, all-in-the-company-shall-die. The NCO's put in their resignations en masse, and as a result, Sgt. Harris got transferred out of the regiment, Ranney was busted to Pvt, but nobody died. Sobel got promoted and transferred. Then we got the news that we were moving out to Upottery soon.

Very soon.


	5. 2: Planes, Leg Bags, and Clackers

**A/N: **Holy...! I was rough-drafting this chapter on my phone in an e-mail and I was trying to get it to my computer, so I send the thing and I wait for the notification. It doesn't come. So I check the address I sent it to. I sent it to someone else! Aha. I just hope they think it's spam and don't read it. x_x

And I liked Robin Hood: credits were gorgeous (despite the fact Scott Grimes' name was something like 9TH in the actors' names list) and the movie was pretty much magnificent... but then, what else did you expect from Ridley Scott?

**Chapter 5 - ****Planes, Leg Bags, and Clackers.**

_Forever young, I want to be_

_Forever young._

_Do you really want to live forever?_

_Forever, forever young._

**May 31st, 1944:**

We were preparing to jump, that much was obvious, but where to, we didn't know yet. They didn't really tell us much.

Buck Compton, our new lieuteniant, was yelling directions and what-to-do at us as we piled out of the trucks and across the stubbly terrain. Men in German uniform were walking around camp, to get us acquainted with their outfits and weapons and exactly how to recognize one in the dark so you can shoot him, certain it's not one of your own. Hoobler was talking to one he apparently knew, who was showing him a Luger. Hoobs had been talking about getting a Luger already and we hadn't even seen any action yet.

I wasn't nervous about fighting. When you go and get through stuff like Sobel, you get a sort of cockiness. You've jumped out of an airplane that was a few thousand feet in the air, right? You've run three miles up a mountain, you've crawled through pig guts, you've put up with some chickenshit officer for the past two years, and you get a swagger. It's natural.

Not too long after we arrived, we were debriefed on it: our first mission, our first real-action jump.

"The estuary of the Douve River divides two beach-heads, code name Utah, here..." Lieuteniant Meehan gestured to the map. "And Omaha, here." He gestured again. "Seaborne infantry will hit these beaches in force on a date and time to be specified. H-hour, D-day. Airborne's objective is to take the town of Carentan, thus linking Utah and Omaha into one continuous beach-head. Each trooper will learn this operation by heart, and know his and every other outfit's mission to the detail."

A man behind me stood up.

"Lieuteniant Meehan?" 

"Yes, Dukeman?" 

"Sir, are we dropping tonight?" 

"When it's time for you to know, we'll let you know. In the meantime, study these sandtables, maps, and reconnaissance photos until you can draw a map of the area by memory. Now, we will drop behind this Atlantic Wall five hours before the 4th Infantry lands at Utah. Between our assembly area and the Battalion's objective, there is a German garrison. Right here in this area, Sainte-Marie-du-Mont. Easy Company will destroy that garrison." His eyes said 'do or die trying'.

So a few days later, that's where we were, packing our things and getting ready for the invasion of Europe. The blanket my things were on was next to Joe Toye's as we started to explore our supplies. Exasperated, Joe stood up and started pointing to the items as he listed them off: "Three-day supply of K-rations, chocolate bars, Charms candy, powdered coffee, sugar, matches, compass, bayonet, entrenching tool, ammunition, gas mask, musette bag with ammo, my webbing, my '45, canteen, two cartons of smokes, Hawkins mine, two grenades, smoke grenade, Gammon grenade, TNT, this bullshit and a pair of nasty skivvies!" He threw down the rope we had been given, his skivvies, and started jerking off his gloves.

"What's your point?" Perco asked from the other side of him.

"This stuff weighs as much as I do! I still got my chute, my reserve chute, my Mae West, my M1!" 

"Where you keeping your brass knuckles?" I asked, flashing a grin. He looked at me for a moment.

"I could use some brass knuckles."

Perco got up to give Vest a package to mail back home or something, George was checking his radio out, and I was still pulling on my gear.

Vest yelled a name and I stiffened before hurriedly getting to my feet and dashing over to him.

"'Ey, Vest, I know the guy, I'll take it."

_After almost two years, I had finally gotten up the courage to write home. She deserved to know where I was, that I was still alive. I knew I shouldn't have waited as long as I did, I was just either too busy, too cowardly, or I couldn't think of the right words to say and I didn't want to waste paper until I had it all sorted out._

_**Dear Angeline,**_

_My hand had paused. I knew that this needed to be it. This had to be it. I was going to tell her and I was going to tell her right._

_**I apologize for not writing sooner and if you're angry at me, I apologize for writing at all. I just felt you should know that I'm doing fine, am in good health, and miss you guys.**_

_**I wish I could be there to tell you this news in person, but wasn't sure how would take this. I've joined the army, Airborne branch. Our leave is up so we're returning to go to war.**_

_**The men in my company are all good men, the best-trained in the entire Airborne. You're probably wondering what the Airborne is. It's an elite force of men (plus me) who parachute out of airplanes, behind enemy lines.**_

_**I joined, disguising myself as a man named 'Daniel', if you can believe it. I'm not sure exactly what I was thinking, but it seems to have worked out for the best in the end; I was discovered, but yet not kicked out.**_

_**Don't worry about me; I can take care of myself and even if I couldn't, my life is in capable hands and if I do somehow die, it will be for a greater cause than my own singular self.**_

_**Give Gery my love for me.**_

_**Affectionately,**_

_**Dani**_

And so it had gone in the mail, but I hadn't exactly expected a reply, let alone right before we even did our first combat jump. Just then, I heard Sarge Lipton's voice yelling over the noise of the other men and I shoved the letter in my jacket hurriedly, to read later.

"Alright, listen up, listen up! If you did not sign your G.I. life insurance policy, you go on over to see Sergeant Evans at the Headquarters Company tent. You boys don't let your families miss out on ten thousand dollars."

I went back to my equipment, promptly forgetting about the letter in the anxiety of making sure I had _everything_. Some British guy had devised the genuis idea of a 'leg bag'. See, it was a bag that went on your leg, right? Yeah. So couldn't tell from the name! We had gotten our supplies, rations, ammunitions, that good stuff, and they gave us _that_ along with it all!

"Why are they springing these things on us now?" Malarkey asked no one in particular as he investigated his currently empty one.

"It's just an extra eighty pounds strapped to your leg." George replied, stopping next to me and holding up a tassel. "Does anybody have any idea how the hell this thing works?"

Nope.

"Colonel Sink." Vest said, handing a paper to Bill as Bill went to eat what was in Bill's bowl. "Colonel Sink." He repeated, pushing another paper into George's hand.

"Soldiers o' da regiment! Ton-aaaa-ght is the n-aaa-ght..." George stopped with the Colonel Sink impression, realizing this was serious, "of nights." He sniffed. "Today, as you read this, you are en route to the great adventure for which you have trained for over two years."

"So that's why they gave us ice cream!" Guarnere held up his bowl and normally, I would have laughed, but the sudden realization that it was almost time was far too serious. I should have known: they had given us ice cream for dinner. They didn't give you ice cream for dinner unless it was _time_.

One of the sergeants came up to me and told me to put on some of this black and green facepaint so my white skin wouldn't pop out, since we were jumping at night. I did as they said, thoroughly wiping my face with it until my skin felt like it was a grease factory.

We were given a little object called a cricket, which I nicknamed 'the clacker', since it went _clack-clack_. We were informed of the words that would save our lives and challenge an enemy soldier. Yeah, we were ready.

"Easy Company! Listen up! Gather up around me. Let's move it up, c'mon gentlemen! Let's go!" Lieuteniant Meehan called from where he was standing on the front of a jeep. "The Channel coast is socked in with rain and fog. High winds on the drop zone. _No jump tonight_. The invasion has been postponed, we're on a 24-hour stand-down. Drill sergeants, take charge."

Most of us shuffled into a walled tent to watch a Cary Grant movie called _Mr. Lucky_ to help pass the very tense and silent time. I ended up sitting between Luz and Liebgott, since I had talked Liebgott into sitting next to me because one of the other men _always_ sat next to me and took up half my seat as well as his own so Lieb was a good seat partner in comparison, touchy though he might have been.

Leaning over, I whispered in George's ear: "I fucking love Cary Grant."

"More than you fucking love me?" He replied just as quietly, not taking his eyes off the screen while taking another draw from his cigarette.

"But of course."

Joe shushed us.

The next day, the conditions had cleared up. In stark contrast to before, we were a bit more quiet. Tense, exhausted, we were filing off to get our gear together and then board the C-47's because we knew, this time it wouldn't be called off or postponed. Even if it had been, it couldn't be postponed forever. There was nothing worse than waiting on the edge of a battle that you couldn't escape.

Finally, we got to sit down on the pavement in front of our designated C-47, waiting.

"Gentlemen, Doc Roe is handing these out for airsickness. Orders are to take one now, another 30 minutes in the air. Lieuteniant." Meehan nodded to Winters and walked away. What the fuck? I'd been on an airplane plenty of times and never gotten airsick.

Winters was going to be lead in my C-47, which I was happy about because we all liked and respected Winters.

"Second Platoon, listen up." He said. "Good luck. God Bless you. I'll see you in the assembly area." He gave us hands-up, which we needed because of all of that equipment. When he lifted me up, I gave him a small smile and went to climb onboard the C-47, scrambling up stubbornly despite the awful weight I wasn't used to carrying, and Joe Toye, who was behind me, gave me a helpful push. We sat down in the seats, wedging in tightly so everyone would fit, but once everyone was in and seated, we could barely move.

I was anxious, sure. I was anxious not to let my country and the people back home down: I wanted to make them proud of me, to be able to say that I did help in the war, I didn't let my fear overcome me. I was anticipating it, and yet, at the same time, I was dreading it. The thought that was niggling in the back of my mind was the one thing I didn't want to think about: how I would handle myself when it all came down to it, when the bullets were flying, when there was an objective and it fell to us to make it happen. How would I handle myself?

George wasn't in my stick, so I couldn't annoy him. Even if I could have, I wouldn't have. The airsickness pills made us all rather sleepy and I dozed off, surprisingly calm, which might have had something to do with the airsickness pills.

**June 5th/6th, 1944:**

When I awoke, the plane was silent except for the rumblings and shakings of a vehicle in disturbed air. Drowsiness overcame me and I fell asleep without realizing I had even closed my eyes. We could hear a boom in the distance, my eyes opened, and I was instantly awake. It wasn't a better way to wake up than the alarm clock yet it was somewhat more effective. The red light came on.

Lieuteniant Winters stood up, fastening the strap of his helmet.

"GET READY!" We held our sticks up in preparation. "STAND UP!" As one, we stood from our seats. "HOOK UP!" We fastened the sticks to the line that stretched from one end of the plane to the other like a laundry line. "EQUIPMENT CHECK!" I ran over the equipment of the guy in front of me hurriedly. I just wanted to be out of the damn plane. "SOUND OFF FOR EQUIPMENT CHECK!"

"Ten okay!" 

"Nine okay!" 

"Eight okay!" 

"Seven okay!" 

"Six okay!" 

"Five okay!"

"Four okay!" I felt the rough pat on my arm and my senses jumped, already hyper-sensitive. 

"Three okay!" I yelled, slapping medic Eugene Roe's arm.

"Two okay!" He called.

"One okay!"

We stood there, waiting, anticipation building even higher and higher. Anything would be better than this: standing there, waiting, knowing the plane could be shot when you got over the DZ, and not being able to do a thing to protect yourself. At least on the ground, you would have some form of defense or some way to stop what was happening from happening. In a plane, you didn't have that luxury. The plane started shaking, worse, much much worse than before and I fell to my knees, scrambling back up hurriedly despite the leg bag weighing me down heavily.

"We get any lower, we ain't gonna need any frigging parachutes!" Skip Muck yelled. We were going too fast, too close to the ground. The light turned green, Winters turning back to shout "LET'S GO!" before he jumped out. Then Roe was gone, and it was my turn at the door and then I had air beneath my feet and I was falling. I felt that first-jump-trepidation at the lack of jerking in the harness. I didn't even have the heart to swear as the ground threateningly loomed closer and closer. Suddenly, I felt a huge and abrupt decline in my downward-headed speed and I felt somehow lighter but paid no heed to hit, turning my attention to the risers and attempting to direct myself somewhere where I wouldn't get stuck in any trees.

I had maybe fifteen seconds of the-parachute-deployed-thank-God in the air before the ground came up to meet me, my landing a harder one than usual because of the lower flying and higher speeds of the plane, but my neck was intact when I reached up to test it out. When I stood, I realized it hadn't been my imagination in the air... I _was_ lighter. Looking down, I realized the bottom of my leg bag had split from the impact of the parachute deploying, so most of my supplies were just... GONE. I had a few chocolate bars in my pocket, a pocketknife, and a few other things, but no real bullet-shooting weapon and no way to really get one.

The only sounds I could hear were my boots crunching on the ground quietly and the occasional spurt of gunfire in the distance. I didn't think I had ever felt quite so alone as I did then.

I knew I wasn't where I was supposed to be. So I picked a direction away from the Germans and walked in it, hoping desperately it was the right way. I had walked for what felt to be hours when I heard a sound and froze, crouching down slightly as I listened intently. My ears picked up the sound of boots coming towards me and I frantically reached for my clacker only to realize the clacking part of my clacker? It was broken.

I also realized I needed to pee.

Clack clack.

"THUNDER!" I hissed, hoping I hadn't forgotten the word that they had promised ensured I wouldn't get killed on a dark night by friendly fire.

"Dani?"

I relaxed with what would have been a sigh if it hadn't been D-Day, in a forest, with Krauts who knew where.

"Hey Joe."

Joe Toye stepped out of the brush followed by Malarkey, Guarnere, and a couple other men whose faces I couldn't make out in the darkness and shadows.

"Why the hell didn t you use your-"

"The clacker? Oh, mine's kinda busted, Joe." I drawled.

"Gahdamnit Dani."

"It wasn't my fault, I swear! You guys have any idea where we are?"

"Not really. We're headed in this direction," he pointed and I raised my eyebrows.

"Good thing we crossed paths." I'd been heading the wrong way. Oh well: I'd never claimed to be the best when it came to being lucky when choosing which direction to walk in.

"What about you? Any idea?" He asked.

"Nope. If I did, I wouldn't have asked you."

Joe looked at me for a second before shaking his head and starting to walk again. I fell in behind him rather happily. Now that I had a bit of company, it almost seemed like everything was going to be okay despite the fact we were still lost, my legbag was still gone, we were still walking, and I still missed the civilized latrine.

We fell silent, keeping our ears and eyes peeled for anything, any movement, any object that didn't grow naturally in a forest. We finally stumbled across some train tracks-for me, quite literally and I happened to do it right when the guy in front of me bent down to check his bootlaces.

"Watch it, Dani." Malark hissed when I fell into his back.

"You're the one with a really hard head." I retorted, rubbing my chin.

"That's my helmet, dumbass."

"You're the dumbass, dumbass."

Then, at almost the exact same time, Malark and I both realized we were walking along the train tracks.

After having a mini-argument about who would ask, I finally glared at Malarkey when he pulled up the subject of craps and how much I owed him.

"Why are we walking on train tracks?" I whined.

"Because." Joe had probably anticipated this, since he had an explanation ready but I cut in.

"Train tracks lead to civilization, Malark." I said in a very wise voice. He gave me a look.

"Why are we walking on train tracks?" Malark whined.

"What Dani said." Joe replied.

Malark hit me on the back of the head.

"Why didn't you just tell me the reason?" 

I tapped the side of my nose and winked at him, which he probably couldn't see, but I did it anyway.

Five minutes later:

"I don't remember hearing about any railroads near our objective."

"I'm telling you, this is the spur line that runs parallel to the river." Joe said with a hint of aggravation in his voice. "We should be coming up to a bridge and road ahead."

"Yeah, how would you know?" 

"Because I studied the sandtables, alright?" 

I fake-coughed quietly.

"Unlike someone else I could mention." Cough cough. "Malarkey." Cough cough.

His protest was cut off by lead scout raising his hand and as we squated down, Malark stepped up to kneel next the guy.

"Probably a frigging train or-"

"Shh."

It was all seriousness as we were listening intently when an itchingly familiar voice whispered out of the bushes: "Flash!" 

"Thunder!" We all exclaimed simultaneously. Men scrambled out of the bushes beside the tracks and I lowered the gun that I hadn't realized I'd raised when I saw Lieuteniant Winters' face.

"Lieuteniant, is that you?" No, duh, Malarkey.

"Guarnere." Winters said.

"Sir?" 

"You and Hall up front."

"Who the hell is Hall?"

**...**

We were walking along when we saw a very dark patch of shadow right beyond a bridge that spanned across the road. Now, usually, that's where King Kong enters, but no. In the distance, my amazing ears picked up the sound of a horse neighing. We halted, Winters dashing up to check down the road. Coming back, he started gesturing and whispering: "Lipton! Go. Guarnere!" Bang bang bang, his hand gave out signals and I followed the other men down the steep embankment on side of the bridge where the Krauts wouldn't see us. We got in position and we patiently... waited.

Winters gave a small nod to Malarkey, who nodded back and moved off. Bill Guarnere shifted from one foot to the other.

"Wait for my command." Winters whispered. Guarnere kept his eyes trained on the underpass, where the cart of Germans would pass under the bridge. The shadows of horses loomed against the brick, then they appeared. I could hear what the Germans were saying as the horses spurred forward, into the light.

Havoc suddenly struck. I instinctively ducked as gunfire broke out, only to raise my head and realize

Guarnere had stood up and was shooting everything Kraut-related in sight.

"Grenade! Grenade!" Someone yelled, and the guy next to me threw one. The horses were going wild from pain as the Krauts were gunned down by Guarnere, who continued to shoot even when they were dead, as if another one would pop out of the cart and yell, "BOO!" 

"That's enough, Guarnere!" Winters yelled. "Everyone okay?" 

"Yessir."

"Next time I say wait for my command, you _wait_ for my command, Sergeant."

"Yessir." Guarnere didn't regret it; not a single second of it. It was obvious.

There was a sudden firing of a pistol and I started, glancing up to where Joe Toye had just put a horse out

of its misery. Sarge Lipton handed Winters a weapon.

"Here you go, Lieuteniant. Kraut weapon."

"Fine, Quaker." Guarnere muttered as Winters walked away.

The guy named Hall stared at him as he started to follow Winters.

"What's that guy's problem?" Hall asked Malarkey.

"Gonorrhea." Malark replied.

"Really?"

I choked. I simply couldn't help it, despite the seriousness of the situation.

"His name, dummy. Guarnere, gonorrhea, get it?"

"So besides having a shitty name, what's his problem?"

Gonorrhea glared at Hall from where he had been rolling a Kraut body over with his foot.

"None of your fucking business, cowboy!"

Seeing a chance to relieve myself, I tapped Malark on the shoulder, jerking my head over towards the shrubs when he looked at me.

"I'm gonna go take a piss, yeah?"

He nodded absently, so I went into the bushes where they couldn't see or hear me and did the business. When I returned, mouth open in preparation of having to say 'Thunder', the road was empty and they were gone.


	6. 3: Of Helmets and Krauts

**Chapter 6 ****- Of Helmets and Krauts**

_MALARKEY!_ My brain yelled to itself. I was alone. In Normandy. With Krauts all around me. What the hell was I supposed to _do_?

The best I could think was to try and follow the road. I seemed to remember something about a road, bridge, train tracks, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember what I was supposed to do if I happened to get onto that particular road that passed under that particular bridge of this particular set of train tracks. But what _else_ was I going to do? I walked. I walked down the road, walked until I thought I couldn't anymore and then I walked some more.

I walked into the day, walked until I stumbled out of a treeline and into a clearing, until I saw a paratrooper with his 'chute caught in the limbs of a tree, dead.

Behind him, a burning farmhouse, the fire starting to die out and smoke still pouring from the gaping areas where the timber should have made a roof. Alongside it, a truck was also burning, fire licking at the tires and from beneath its hood. Next to it lay another few dead soldiers, but it was the man in the tree that had my attention. I stared at him for a few minutes, thinking of how that could have been me in that tree, unlucky with the risers, maybe not the best at steering, but maybe he was dead before he even reached the tree.

I didn't know. It was hard to tell admist the flies and flipped limbs.

Turning in a circle absently and jerking my mind off the man in the tree, I tried to check if Krauts were close by, tried to see if I could remember what direction I was supposed to go now, tried to find any landmarks other than a farm.

Finishing the turn, I realized two things: one, I was even more confused because I wasn't sure which way I had been walking in when I came out of the trees and secondly, the road was no longer there. I had known it wasn't, I just hadn't realized it. I must've wandered off it during the night, or it had ended. That _really_ helped with the sense of where I was. I hadn't even known before I ran into Joe, and now I was even worse off because I was lost completely and utterly.

I had studied the sandtables intensely, of course, but mostly in the area around the DZ because we had been counting on being dropped accurately and correctly in our DZ so we had been called upon to memorize _that_ area. I knew the location of every farmhouse near the DZ, but I hadn't been _dropped_ in the DZ, so if I had, by any chance, stumbled across where I was supposed to be, I didn't know, because exactly how many farmhouses _were_ there in Normandy? I hadn't even seen any towns or helpful signs.

So how could I deal with this situation? I picked a direction and for the second time that day, I found myself walking to a place I didn't know and wouldn't know until I reached it. I didn't see any point in scrounging ammo: I didn't have a gun, so what use would it have besides weighing me down?

It was about 0300 hours when I came across something that rather shocked me, personally. A river, and beyond the river, I could very faintly see a town. Now, I knew what this meant.

This particular river, this particular town, I knew this one. Carentan was 'the town across the river' and I was not supposed to come upon this particular stretch of the river: I had gone too far in the wrong direction. So I turned, set my face in what I knew was a direction that would bring me _close_ to where I was supposed to be, at least, and I set off.

I walked, and I walked, and I walked, and I walked, and I walked some more. I was still trying to stick with the treeline, when a consistent one occured, but I finally just gave up and walked amongst the grass. I had been walking out in the open for quite some time when I gave in to temptation.

My scalp was driving me insane. Little beads of sweat would run down from beneath the helmet and just trickle through my hair, giving quite the impression that there was a bug that had crawled underneath my helmet that I simply couldn't reach. Finally, I sinned, took my helmet off, reached a hand up, and scratched. Just at that very moment, I heard a shout and almost simultaneously, a burning warmth shot through my senses right as I heard the sound of a gun firing. I dropped to the ground, clapping a hand to the side of my head and involuntarily groaning.

Frantically, I thought of the gun. German. Definitely German. Jerry guns had a distinct sound to them. Then, in a split second, I rationalized. If I started to crawl away, they would shoot at me. Jerries couldn't aim to hit the side of a barn, but they would somehow manage to shoot me, considering my luck of the day. So, before I could think of the wisdom of what I was doing, I groaned again, louder, yelling a choice word in a language other than English, in an accent other than American... in German.

"**ICH STEHE AUF DEINER SEITE, DUMMKOPF!" **_I AM ON YOUR SIDE, IDIOT!_

I mentally cursed myself as soon as the words were out of my mouth. Stupid Dani for being stupid, stupid Geoff for teaching her the gahdamn language in the first place.

Too late to turn back now. Footsteps were cautiously running towards me, hands grabbing my arms and lifting me up, forcing my hands behind my head, a rifle pointing to my forehead, quivering an inch away, ready to shoot, to kill me. I suddenly wished my hair was blonde and my eyes blue instead of my brown American appeal, hoped these Krauts were naive enough to think that just because a soldier knew some German, he was on their side.

"**Du bist Amerikaner!**" _You are {male} American!_ The man with the gun ready to kill me said. I rolled my eyes and almost winced at how saucy I was about to get, somewhat irritated at the fact I didn't even have my chest bandaged and yet he thought I was a man. Oh, the irony.

"**Ja, dummkopf, und du bist Japaner!**" _Yes, idiot, and you are Japanese!_

"**Wer bist du?**" _Who are you?_

I gave him a stern glare that always seemed to intimidate Americans. One could only hope it would have the same affect on the intimidating Germans.

**"Jemand dein Kommandant gern treffen möchte.**" _Someone your commanding officer will want to meet._

Yeah. He would want to meet me, alright. And if he knew who I was, he would want them to shoot me as well. I just prayed that all the black-mailing with Perco had found a way to pay off and save my scrawny little neck.

That's how I found myself being escorted to meet the German officer in a town. He was sturdy, with a graying handlebar moustache and a stern face but yet, his eyes were not cruel. I suddenly realized two things, one after the other: one, what the chances were of succeeding at what I was actually trying to do (which was get out alive) and secondly: I needed to piss.

The officer and soldier had a brief whispered discussion, which I tried my best to hear, but they were too far away, despite my sharp ears. Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably only nervous minutes made long by nervously twiddling my nervous fingers, the Moustache Man approached me.

_Geezus, this is worse than that time when I was standing in Colonel Sink's office._ I thought to myself as the man just looked at me for a moment. I almost wet my trousers.

"**Du bist deutsch?**" _You are German?_

"**Polnisch.**" _Polish_. I lied, looking him hard in the eye. I had a good and proper Kraut accent, so if I was discovered, it wouldn't be because of the way I pronounced my words.

"**Was machst du hier? Wer bist du?**" _What are you doing here? Who are you?_

"**Ich bin ein Auffassungsvermögen Geheimagent. Mein Auftrag ist die Amerikanischer Armee zu infiltrieren**." _An intelligence undercover agent. My assignment became to infiltrate the Americans._

"Ah." He seemed to understand this as he nodded, up and down, up and down, very slowly, as if he was verifying what I was saying in my mind. I almost winced when he thrust his arm out, but his hand was not clutching a gun. "**Entschuldigungen.**" _Apologies._

I almost hesitated as I reached out to meet it with my own. He had no choice but to trust me, and yet at the same time, he couldn't. I shook his hand. Immediately after he let go, he turned away and jerked his head as he walked forwards. Hands seized me once again, and since there were no guns pointed towards my head, I didn't struggle. In a military standpoint, he was doing the right thing. If I was here, that meant the Americans were there. If the Americans were there, they were about to attack and I was to be questioned a_fter_ all the Americans died. Then, I had a horrible thought. If my being there alerted the Germans to the Americans' presence in Normandy...

"**Herr?**" _Sir? _I said. He turned back around.

"**Ja?**" _Yes?_

"**Wo bin ich?**" _Where am I?_ Not specific enough, I decided and added: "**Welches Land ist es hier?**" _What country is this?_

He stared at me, dumbfounded at my utter ignorance, or rather, pretense of.

"**Weißt du das nicht?**" _You don't know?_

"**Nein, herr. Ich wurde entdeckt und flüchtete.**" _No, sir. I became discovered and fled._

"**Also, du sagst das die Amerikaner sind nicht hier?**" _You're saying the Americans aren't here?_

"**Nicht dass ich wüsste, nein.."** _Not that I know of, no. _"**Sie sagten nicht viel.**" _They didn't say much._

He turned away, gesturing again, and I was hauled away, marching off to what might have been my doom, I wasn't sure. I didn't dare try and make a break for it because of the two Jerries, one on each side of me. If I started running, they probably wouldn't think I was playing tag with them. No, they were going to shoot and probably kill, unlike the last time. I lifted a hand to my head at that thought, feeling along the wound and wincing at the sting. Idiotic Dani.

We heard gunfire in the very far, far distance and my head jerked up, listening eagerly, but the distance was far, far too great to tell which guns and whose side they were on. My guards sure did speed up, though.

Before I could really realize and absorb it, I was being shoved in what looked like it had been a family business store at one point (before it had been occupied by Krauts), being led down a hallway and brought into what had obviously once been a living room, complete with windows that still had curtains hung up and parted to the sun would have sprung into the room rather cheerily if it weren't for the fact the glass of the window was a tad bit dirty and there was now a Kraut flag hanging on the wall.

I clapped the helmet I was still holding back on my head before they sat me down in a chair and tied my hands behind it, leaving me behind with a single guard, changing out every now and then. Until they did, I attempted to chat with the current guard. They usually gave me a bit of a pow when I got particularly annoying. The guards, interestingly enough, didn't talk about any of their plans in front of me.

I lost track of the time I spent in that room. I had fallen asleep several times so I wasn't really sure how long I had been there, whether it was merely hours or days. My one comfort was that at least I now knew _where _I was.

With nothing else to do, my thoughts turned to the worst. Was everyone okay? Had anyone Easy been killed? If I was able to return and find them, would the men I knew be gone? I didn't know anything. I didn't know who had landed safely, I didn't know if they had seen combat yet, I just didn't _know_ anything. I had friends in the army that I hadn't seen in a while, some in Dog Company, some in Able, some in Item, some from home in another branch, some all over the place. Were _they_ okay? I felt like I was going insane.

After what seemed an eternity of sitting there in a wooden chair, I awoke to gunfire. The guard hurried out, leaving me all alone. I sat through it as best I could, knowing that at any second, there could be a grenade and I would be blown to hell if there did end up being one.

Finally, there was mostly silence, but my guard didn't come back. I took this as a sign that the Americans had won and I started squirming like insane, but the rope wouldn't come undone so I, in the space of a few very busy minutes, painstakingly hopped the chair to the window to smash the glass with a foot I could juuuust barely raise high enough, and I promptly started yelling bloody murder.

Footsteps sounded in the hall and then Liebgott appeared in the doorway. When he saw me, his eyebrows raised.

"Dani? Geezus, is that really you?"

"Lieb, my name is not Geezus. Would you mind untying me?"

Luckily, the person who had tied me had a sense of decency because they had let me have a little circulation in my hands but nevertheless, it still hurt when Lieb untied me. As soon as he had, he ripped the flag down from the wall and admired it.

"What's today?" I asked as we headed out to the front.

"D-Day plus 1."

"Holy shit. Got any extra guns? Lost mine in the jump."

"We'll find you one. What happened to you?" 

"I have nothing to say on the matter." I said on the matter. "Popped in for a cup of tea with the Krauts to try and stay alive and what do you know, they don't have any good tea _plus_ they don't trust me _and_ I annoyed them just a tad bit. What about you?" 

"Took out the four cannons yesterday. And then three towns with fancy names and now here."

"Fuck."

Just then, he was called away and he nodded to me before he jogged off. I found where the medicals had set up and sat down to get my head checked by Doc Roe. I told him what had happened and what the damage was and how long it would take to recuperate before he even opened his mouth on the subject.

"How do you know all this?" 

"My mum and grandfather. She was a nurse, he was a doctor. Mama passed away when I was a kid so I got sent to live with my grandfather because my aunt couldn't afford to take us all in. He taught me all about it. I didn't mind because it reminded me of Mama. What about you, Doc, how do _you_ know so much about it?" I teased, getting him to crack a very _small_ smile. It was still a smile, though.

"Well, looks like you were right. You should be fine."

"The bleeding has long since stopped, so I don't think I need a bandage."

He gave me a look and I groaned.

"FINE." I pouted, crossing my arms while he tied a strip of cloth around my head. "Oh, and Doc? Where's 2nd Plat?" 

"They're around here somewhere, Shoemaker."

"Call me Dani." I put my helmet back on so that it covered the white of the bandage quite nicely and headed for the door. I was wandering around searching for something worth my interest when I saw one very familiar face. "RONNIEEEEEEEEEE!" I yelled, a grin plastered across my face.

He turned to look at me for one split second with a rather annoyed look at being addressed so in front of the men that were hanging around. I heard someone call his (official) name and he turned away to go follow orders and whatnot.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." A guy beside me said.

"Oh? Why not?" I asked, glancing over at him.

He just shrugged mildly and replied: "Stories."

"Who, Lieuteniant Speirs?" Another fellow joined in. Guy 1 nodded.

"I heard he shot, like, 20 POWs."

I scratched my head and thought about this. Of course, Ron was always rather impetuous and didn't exactly follow the rules by way of caution-for instance, climbing up a tree his mama had told him not to so he could get to what was supposedly the best apple in that particular tree and breaking his leg for his efforts-but killing 20 POWs?

"I heard he gave them smokes first and _then_ killed them." Guy 2 volunteered. "But I _also_ heard he took the third gun at Brecourte."

"All by himself?" Guy 1 inquired.

"Mmmmhm."

"Geezus. So," Guy 1 said, turning back to me, "you're really just taking your life into your own hands." This part was directed towards innocent me, whose only crime was calling a lieuteniant by his old nickname in front of alot of men. Oh, boy. Easy was probably going to hear about this escapade.

"I think I can handle it. Thanks, boys."

I was about to walk off when Guy 1 called after me: "Who are you?"

"Dani Shoemaker, 506th. You?" 

"John Doyce, 82nd. Where you from?" 

"Macon, Georgia."

"No way! I'm from Savannah!"

Eagerly sitting back down, I immediately engaged in a chat about the joys of living in Georgia and what our favorite things about it were. Oh, the peaches. Oh, the sunshine. Oh, everything else. It was going fine until I mentioned a past boyfriend and...

"Geezus, you're a woman!" 

"Uh-huh. And my name isn't Geezus."

I found a place to sleep that night and I bedded in rather uncomfortably. The next morning, I awoke to a swift kick in the ass and someone's voice saying to get out of their way, which was always a good wake-up call. I mean, who didn't want an arrogant lieuteniant's boot up their ass and the hoity-toity voice telling them to stop sleeping beautifully and get the hell out of the way. People would totally pay for that job.

But once I had moved out of his way, I, being trained in the art of becoming awake quickly, was too aroused to go back to sleep. Cursing Sobel and his rigorous training, I hitched up what was left of my gear and headed around town, looking for Easy. After a bunch of bad turns and wrong directions and bad turns and wrong directions and bad turns and wrong directions, my eyes finally found a group of men standing in a town square, sitting on a memorial or some such structure, and my ears very faintly caught Lieb showing off his Hitler flag.

"Shoemaker?" I heard behind me and I turned around tiredly, rubbing my eyes.

"Lieuteniant Welsh."

"Where've you been?"

"Longgg story, sir."

"Alright, well. Go on and join the men, we'll be moving out soon so get some rest while you can." 

"Yessir. Thank you, sir."

As inconspicuously as I could, I slipped up amongst them, listening to what was going on. Tab was showing off _his_ piece of camouflage poncho, and Luz yelled that it was a beauty, Tab jokingly told him to keep his hands off and Luz innocently protested that he was 'just touching'.

Blithe sat on the steps of what I had dubbed "the structure with the steps", next to Perco and Dukeman.

"How was your jump?" Dukeman inquired, leaning forward to look across Perco and over at Blithe.

"Ah, missed the DZ."

"Yeah, that goes without saying." Perco half-chortled.

"I guess so..."

"Got any souvenirs to trade?"

"Huh?"

Perco pulled up his sleeve to display an arm embellished with at least four watches.

"They're alllll ticking." He said proudly. "Unlike their previous owners. Got anything good?" 

"Not yet."

Blithe looked around.

"So... we... lost anybody?"

"Tommy Burgess took one in the face." Dukeman replied. "Popeye Wynn got pinked in the behind. They're gonna be okay."

"Thas good..."

The conversation continued, Perco asking Blithe if he'd seen Lieuteniant Meehan and explaining (when Blithe asked, of course) that Company HQ was still missing and they thought the plane went down. Dukeman added that 'they' said 'he' (Meehan) was going to turn up, but Perco retorted that he wasn't holding his breath. Blithe asked who was in command. Dukeman said Winters in charge and Welsh for 1st Platoon. Just then, I heard Lut. Welsh yelling for 1st Platoon to get up, Easy was moving out, on your feet.

As we all shuffled to our feet and walked over, the men mumbling the last bits of conversation.

"Listen up! It'll be dark soon. I want light and noise discipline from here on: no talking, no smoking, and no playing grab-fanny with the woman in front of you, Luz."

George's head started to crane around when he heard the term 'woman'.

"So where are we headed to, Lieuteniant?" Someone other than me asked. Honestly, I was glad it wasn't me. I wasn't exactly in the question-asking mood. I just wanted to go back to sleep.

"We're taking Carentan."

"That sounds like fun." Perco snorted.

"It's the only place where armour from Omaha and Utah Beach can link up and head inland. Until we take Carentan, they're stuck on the sand. General Taylor's sending the whole division."

In other words, don't fuck up. George liked the way he put this and decided to add a little more to it by scoffing and, well... adding more to it.

"Remember boys, give me three day-ays and three ni-ay-ghts of hard fighting, and you will be relieved!" He called in a General Taylor impression.

Hoobler took lead scout as Welsh ordered the 1st Plat to fall into formation and the people from 2nd and 3rd to fall in behind them and shake a leg. Right.

"Another thing to remember, boys!" Luz said. "Flies spread disease: so keep yours closed!"

Someone told him to shut up.

"'GEEZUS! IT'S YOU!" Perco's voice suddenly came from next to me, making me jump. I felt the sweat start to itch down my scalp again, absorbing into the bandage. I almost started crying from the utter torture.

"GAHDAMNIT, MY NAME IS NOT GEEZUS!" I roared.


	7. 3: Routes

**A/N: I must apologize. I know, I know: it's been over a month. I've been excruciatingly busy, and then when I finally had time, I just couldn't find the heart to write this chapter. So here it is, hurried and horribly brief, just to let you know I'm still alive.**

**Chapter 7 - Routes**

I have to admit-in all my life, I had never been happier to see a group of sobs who'd left me in the very dangerous, very Kraut-infested forest, strictly speaking of course.

Obeying Lut Welsh's orders meant we were supposed to be quiet and that meant I had a good excuse for not answering when I was asked what had happened. Someone always looked backwards and shushed the person who had asked, so I never got a chance to find out (without speaking) why they were so concerned, exactly, besides the fact I had disappeared for a day and a half and then popped up in a Kraut outpost in Vierville with blood on one side of my face (Lieb spread rumors) and an aching body. I hadn't even seen myself in a mirror since I climbed on a damn plane and flew a long way to drop like a sack of potatoes into Normandy.

We walked. We walked all day, walked into dusk, walked past the burning remaints of buildings, walked along a very small river that could almost be called a very large creek, walked and walked and walked.

We regularly 'lost' F Company. While Hoobler and Blithe went to go find them again, Perco was sent back along the ranks to pass out the word to hold up-again.

I sat down on the ground like a little kid, exhausted after helping Mommy in the kitchen, as we patiently, or not so much, waited for F Company to return to themselves and realize they had wandered off-again. I was personally getting tired of waiting on those clueless suckers. If they were just going to get lost, they could have done it before they joined the Airborne.

The mosquitoes were frikking annoying. I thought that I probably had a bite on every inch of uncovered skin, but of course that was an exaggeration made by my exhausted and pissed-off brain. I noticed a few men looking at me as I sat there, and that didn't exactly help my annoyed state. When we finally stood back up and resumed our very exciting walk, I was about ready to throttle someone. Murderously throttle someone.

That night, we grabbed what sleep we could in a field and hoped that the spot we were lying on wouldn't get our precious and army-issued blankets too wet.

The next thing I really knew, I was crouching in a ditch that ran up a hill that happened to be situated right in front of a certain town I had almost come in contact with the day before.

Hinges of a structure I couldn't see were squeaking raucously, almost impudent in the otherwise deathly silence. From my position, I could see the sign that labeled the town as Carentan and the small white cross that stood behind it, a monument of a sort. The road itself had brush growing on either side, so if we needed to get out of there, the fastest route we would have would be to retreat straight down the road.

They had gathered us up, given us a rather rude awakening and then they had led us out here; to line up in a straight ranks, crouching down, awaiting our fate tensely.

Lieu Winters whispered something to Lieu Welsh, inspected his watch, and then Welsh had gestured for First to rear their heads and run up the damn hill. Winters gestured for us to follow him, stage-whispering: "Go, go, go!"

Obediently, we all stood to our feet and started to run. The first men reached the crest of the hill. All at once, a voice that was definitely not yelling in English rang out from the town and guns began to sound off. Bullets impacted into the dirt road at my feet, spraying the earth into the already dusty air.

In panic, I flailed my feet around, searching for some form of cover. My boots caught in a low-lying vine and I tumbled back down, my face finding shrubbery. Confused and momentarily disoriented, I twisted my body and swung out my arms, feeling for something I could grab to get myself back up and on my feet.

Skin met bark and I pulled frantically, but just as I got some sort of purchase on the rough tree skin, I scrambled to get one hand on the ground, the result ending with my feet half in the ditch, my torso completely immobilized and my arms helpless, captured by fucking shrubbery.

I cried for help, but above Winter's yells to 'move, you have no cover here!' and the gun fire, my cries went unanswered until I felt one arm released, then the other, and I would have crashed to the ground but for hands keeping me steady until I found my feet.

Flashing a grateful smile at the God-sent Shifty Powers, I followed him and a couple other men through the remainder of the shrubbery and up to the town as we successfully barged through a wooden gate. I got over to the side of a wall immediately, one of the men who had been beside me getting shot as he dashed up the middle of the street. He was down. I watched him carefully for any movement and, finally seeing a slight twitch, I glanced around quickly before I grabbed his arm and started to pull him over to better cover, but only to be too late. His eyes were glazed over with the cold embrace of death.

A shot rang out, the man only ten feet away from me dropping to the ground.

"SNIPER!" Someone yelled as I crawled over to the snipe victim, glancing up to see where the shooter was and freezing as I stared at the sniper rifle barrel was aimed straight for me. A shot rang out and the bullet never hit my flesh but the Kraut about to shoot me. I looked over at Shifty and nodded before looking at the sniped's wound. Pulling out my morphine kit, I jabbed the syrette in the appropriate spot and stuck it on his jacket to let a medic know he'd gotten one before I grabbed his aid kit from his jacket and put it in my own pocket to replace the one that had just been used.

The machine-gunner, deciding Shifty was a dangerously good shot, started shooting at him, therefore pinning me down as well as Shifty. I kept away from the edge of the wall, clutched my gun, and listened.

I heard a few shouts, a door breaking, short bursts of gunfire, and Lip's voice yelling: "You okay, Shifty?"

Shifty gave a thumbs-up, so I figured it was safe and popped my head out.

"We gotta take that warehouse!" Lip called. "Shifty!" Shifty headed over to Lip to pepper some windows and without further ado, I turned and ran down the street, not really sure where I was going or what I was doing but knowing I was hoping it was somewhere I could do something called trying to beat the shit out of a few Krauts.

"Shoemaker!" I looked over to see Lut. Welsh across the street. "Route around the back of the town and make sure the Krauts aren't trying to escape through the backs of the houses. Go!" 

"Yessir!"

Turning back and mindlessly "go"ing like he had ordered, I started to foolishly dash across a street and bullets hit the road at my feet, doing murder to the brick. Losing my head for the second time that day, I ran straight across the road and turned a corner, then another, then another, and another, finding myself in a small alley with no idea where I was. Cursing my disorientational nature, I hurried over to a wall that promised it would protect me while I figured out where I was.

Looking over to my right, as I huddled against that very-safe-and-secure-feeling wall, I realized that there was a small backyard. Without a second thought, I ducked into it, hoping that if I went through the house and came out at the front, I would know where I was. I rounded the corner of the tall fence into the yard hurriedly and-HOLY SHIT! PATPAT.

The Kraut fell to the ground, one arm thrown over his head, two seperate holes in his helmet. Who had killed him? I dazedly realized my M1 was pulled up against my hip, and I was two rounds shorter than I had been a moment before.

I heard a shout for a medic, then a grenade went off, smashing what sounded like pottery but had probably been a storefront, now a pile of rubble and broken brick.

Taking one more look at the body laying at my feet, I turned and ran in the direction of the yells. Coming back to the front of the Cafe, this time I turned around the corner of the building semi-cautiously, finger semi-on the trigger. A form in front of me made me semi-freeze, semi-pull up my gun, and semi-die from fright.

"GEEZUS, LUZ." I hissed. "Scare the shit outta me, why dontcha?" 

"Still alive, Dani? Why am I surprised?" He retorted as he slid past me, checked if it was safe to cross like a good little boy, then dashed across the road. 

"Dumbass. Why is it that they fire at me, yet not at him?"

Hunching in around myself as I quickly found the back of the town, I remembered my orders and my eyes hurriedly darted around the network of alleyways and, seeing no Krauts in the immediate vicinity, I ran up one until it abruptly ended and opened back into the town square. SHIT.

Skidding to a halt and leaning my shoulder against the rough stone wall, I peeked around the corner, pulled my rifle up to the shoulder, aimed down the sights, and opened fire on one of the machine guns that were up in the Cafe De Normandie's windows.

When I had fired the entire clip, I ducked back into cover behind the wall and hurriedly reloaded with practiced but shaking hands as fellow comrades hurried up the alley, past me and into the town square, their M1s pointed towards the ground but their tense fingers waiting on the trigger. Right before I split away from the wall to head back to the edges of town, I heard Lipton yell something about having us zeroed and I froze for a split millisecond as this registered.

"Shitshitshitshit," My subconcious muttered through my numb lips as I gritted my teeth and finally slid the clip into my rifle. Right as I ducked away from the building, I was lifted off my feet, thrown into the air, and abruptly slammed into the ground. As I climbed to my feet, shaken, I chanced a glance behind me.

If I had a tail, I would have tucked it between my legs as I turned and got away from there as fast as my legs would carry me.

The wall I had been leaning against mere moments ago was now blown to smithereens.

Things seemed to be blowing up left and right: this wall, that store, this house, that wall. I did my best to avoid it all and get out of the street, but whatever I approached blew up. Finally just giving up on the whole thing, I headed for the town square hurriedly, hoping that since they'd probably already blown that area, they wouldn't think to again.

"Easy, easy, there you go, there you go." Slight coughing. "Oh, Geezus." Slight pause. I rounded the corner, finally able to recognize Joe Liebgott's voice. "You hang in there, buddy. 'Kay, we're gonna get you fixed up, 'right?"

He was supporting a man. At first, all I could see of the man in question was a bloodied hand and a smoking shoe but as I drew up to them, I realized that was just the beginning. The blood on his hand had come from somewhere, but which injury, I had no idea.

His boot had been torn into and without looking, I would say a couple of toes cut off at least. His upper right leg was completely mangled, maybe broken, the flesh as destroyed as his boot. His other leg looked potentially broken as well.

His face was devastated. Blood everywhere: dripping from his mouth, underneath his nose, leaking from his ears, indicating he had burst eardrums or something like. His left eye looked like it had been pulled from its socket and squashed back into his face and it was with sorrow and what felt like a stone falling on my heart, I realized it was Pvt. Tipper.

"Guys, you want to give me a hand here? Come on." Joe gestured to the other two standing there gaping, but they stood there, too deep in shock to move. I quickly moved underneath Tipper's other arm, helping Joe to lift him, and despite Tipper's protests that he could walk, we carried him somewhere we could set him down, the sounds of battle starting to fade away.

The Americans had won.

We got Tipper to a table inside an intact store, and while Joe supported him and talked to him, I ran off to find Doc Roe and tell him. Roe already looked busy.

"Yes, Dani?" 

I hurriedly told him, trying not to look at the bodies of the fallen in fear of recognizing a familiar face, terrified a voice I recognized would call my name, hoarsely yell for help.

"You know the medical business, right, Shoemaker?" He asked, not looking up from the bandage he was binding around a man's arm.

"Yessir."

"Now's the time to prove it." He quickly shoveled a few bandages into my arms before moving on to the next man in need of medical attention.

I stared at my full arms, shocked. I had never really truly expected to put my knowledge of medicine to use. Doc Roe looked back at me, a hint of desperation in his eyes. Staring back at him for a moment, I looked down at the bandages, turned, and set off to do what my grandfather had taught me to do.


	8. 3: No Luck Today

_"What'sa matter, Bessie? You seem worried."_

_"Maybe it's because his name is Jack!"  
"Hi-ho, Silver."_

-_The Philadelphia Story_

[**I started laughing.**]

**I recently saw Ron Livingstone in **_**The Time-Traveler's Wife**_**. I could only look at his **_**hair**_**.**

**Also, I [very] recently saw Tom Hardy in **_**Wuthering Heights**_**. My reaction: "He looks like Janovek... *3 minutes later* "DUDE, I SWEAR, THAT'S JANOVEK!" [You can't blame me. He looks different with long hair.]**

**And **_**then**_**, I saw him in **_**Inception**_** [which, for all you people who want to see it and haven't yet, was incredible. Christopher Nolan has insanely crazy talent, and I'm almost jealous, but back to my point]. And he looks good with a little moustache and beard. No lie.**

**Okay. Enough with the "OOOH! IT'S HIM!". On with the story.**

**Oh. Dear CP2girls: you made my week. I just wanted you to know that. :D**

**Chapter 8**** - No Luck Today**

By the time I had worked my way to the aid station, I was already out of bandages so I went to find some more, trying to walk like I was a medic, despite the absence of a red cross on my arm. Eventually, the sounds of battle completely died off, leaving only the moans of the wounded to grace my ears.

I started to sweat even more profusely underneath the sun, finally taking off the bandage Doc Roe had forced upon me so it wouldn't itch. I knew the dangers, but I figured I could always have my head amputated if the wound got infected. I mean, who needs their head, right?

Liebgott and Lut. Welsh got Tipper to the aid station, we got some morphine in him, and despite his constant insisting that he could walk, we aided him to a place he could lie down and a medic could look at his wounds.

I tried to keep myself busy, helping the men who were still out in the street, trying to give what medicine we had, a smoke to those that could have some, since, ironically, my ungiven-away pack of Lucky Strikes had been one of the only things that hadn't been in my leg bag when I jumped. Finally, I headed over to the actual aid station where I found Doc Roe and he put me to work.

A couple fellows came in, supporting a man, arms around him, helping him to stumble his way across the floor and to the corner.

"What's wrong with him?" I asked them, curious. I didn't see a speck of blood on that boy. Dirt, yes, but no blood.

"He can't see a damn thing." One of them mumbled to me as the other shuffled out, nodding to me on his way. I nodded back absently.

"Not a thing?" I raised my eyebrows, puzzled. Strange would be one word that could describe _that_. 

"Not a _damn_ thing." He corrected, the last scraps of a sense of humor. I smiled slightly at him before moving to crouch down next to the man. What was his name? I knew his face. He was from 1st Platoon... oooooh, name, name, na-Blithe.

"Blithe? It's Dani."

"Dani?" 

"The-only-female-in-the-company Dani."

"Miss Dani."

"Yeah, Dani. Are you hurt?" 

"No, ma'am. I just can't see."

"No wounds, no broken bones?"

"Not one."

He... or rather, his eyes were staring into space with a half-creepy blankness in their gaze. Glancing over to where Doc Roe was bandaging a wound, I gestured to my eyes. He, just as puzzed as I had been, raised his eyebrows.

"Things just went black. I dunno what happened." Blithe's soft voice continued.

"Alright, Blithe, we'll try and get you fixed up." I got up, walking over to Doc and shrugging, thinking for a moment before I answered his silent question.

"He can't see."

"He can't see?"

"I'd say it was from shock."

At that moment, Lieu Winters limped in, supported by Luz. I went back to my business, which was currently attempting to take an inventory of the supplies left.

"Dani." I heard from above where I was sitting on the floor. I looked up to find Luz himself come to visit.

"'Ey, Luz."

"You okay?" 

"Yeah. Why?" 

He shrugged, taking a pull from his cigarette and deciding not to answer.

"So you're still alive?" I asked.

"Last I checked, why?" 

"Damn. I just don't have any luck today."

He chuckled.

"Geezus, what's with the helmet." 

"I told you, my name ain't Geezus." I said grumpily, avoiding the question and his eyes. I felt his gaze search my face for a long moment and then he finally nodded.

"Well, just thought I'd tell you we're moving out soon."

"Joy."

"Yeah. See ya, Dani."

"Yeah. See ya, Luz."

I watched him walk out the door, strangely forlorn at the thought of having to go back to counting the supplies without company.

Winters was talking to Blithe, and as Winters stood up and went back over to Doc Roe so Roe could finish bandaging Winters' leg up, Blithe rose to his feet, saying his vision had returned (in shorter words, which were infused with a soft-spoken tone of shock). Winters told him to stay at the aid station, just in case his vision failed again (in less words, which were infused with as close to a tone of surprise as you could come with Winters).

So I found Blithe a chair to sit in so's he didn't have to sprawl across the floor and then I went to go find some food and maybe raid a kitchen or two. Who knew, maybe that cafe had something good to eat in it.

Before long, the time had come to move out again so we grouped up in front of the Cafe.

"Dani, the dumbass!" Malark called in a jovial greeting, raising his arms in a classic hail-the-conquering-hero pose.

"Don, the dumbass!" I retorted, copying his kind gesture.

"You're the dumbass who got lost in the woods-"

"You're the dumbass who didn't tell them-"

"You're the dumbass who thought my helmet was my head-"

"You're the dumbass who actually thinks my getting lost has something to do with your having a hard helmet-"

"You're the dumbass who somehow got left behind!" 

"You're the dumbass who forgot to mention to the fellas I was taking a piss!"

"Whatever, dumbass." He had run out of things to pull up, so I was able to concentrate on my current issues while Malark turned to Muck and Penkala and started telling the story about how-Dani-got-lost-in-the-forest-because-she's-such-a-dumbass-as-if-the-rest-of-us-weren't-lost-in-the-gahdamn-forest-as-well.

The itch atop my head was driving me insane. I hadn't taken my helmet off that entire time and I was sweltering, the sweat trickling down my scalp at the infuriating speed of sssssllllllloooowwwww. I took off my helmet to scratch around before we had to move out and goodness, was it heaven! Until...

"Geezus, Dani!" Malark exclaimed. "What happened?"

I sent him a glare, raising my hand to touch the mangled cartilage of my ear, feeling the crusted blood along the area that had been ripped away by the momentum of the bullet, only the ruined wreckage of half of my left ear remaining.

"A dumbass." As I turned to walk away, behind me, I heard Skip Muck ask: 

"Which dumbass?"

I remained apart from the other men until we started off, keeping my helmet on and my eyes down until I heard a voice beside me.

"'Ey, Dani."

"'Ey, Perco."

"Real party, yeah?" 

"Yeah."

Silence.

"Still alive?" He asked. 

"Still kicking." I confirmed with a hint of grimness, hoisting my gun a little higher.

"Shit."

I laughed, the beginnings of a retort interrupted by the sudden and unexpected appearance of a uniform on the other side of me.

"Gawge!" I said happily.

"Dani! The supplies didn't kill you? Damn." 

"Fucker."

Why was it everyone seemed so completely unrelieved to see I was still alive and breathing?

The scrubby weeds we were wading through were knee-high, the trees on our right completely natural, the creek to our left a little annoying, a hedgerow up ahead in front of us, and the gray sky that predicted rain completely European.

"Luz." Perco said to George.

"Uh."

"How far we goin'?" He asked, as if George was supposed to know.

"Aw, GEEZUS, Frank, I dunno! Until they tell us to stop." George replied in exasperation, throwing an annoyed glance at Perco, then rolling his eyes at me. Perco gave him an annoyed look right back.

"High ground." Hoobler supplied. "There's high ground up ahead."

"Okay, genuis." Perco scoffed, and we all grinned at his expense. "Answer me this then: why's Easy Company the _only_ company who's either at the front of an advance or, like now, at the far edge of the line?" 

"To keep you own your toes." Hoob bluffed.

"No, that's not what I'm saying. I'm saying that we're _never_ in the middle, and we're the fifth of nine companies of this regiment, Able to Item. Think of it!"

"It's because we're the best of the fucking best, Perco." I told him, hoisting my gun onto my shoulder and smirking while waiting for this to register in his brain.

"That's not my point." He protested once again, and I exchanged glances with George.

"See there?" Hoob pointed. "You see that hill up there-"

He was suddenly cut off by gunfire and the shouts of 'Incoming!' that broke out.

"Shit!" I hissed as we dived down to the solid ground.

"Contact right! Get in the hedgerow!" Lut. Welsh yelled.

The creek practically exploded upwards as something large hit it, making a fountain of the water in its embrace. We scrambled to our feet to get in the hedge and to even the most minor cover. A man beside me got shot, and he stumbled a few more steps forward until he toppled to the ground. Bullets were whizzing through the air, deafening in their panic-inducing catastrophy.

Lut. Welsh yelled something about Sgt. More, Luz and the radio, and then Sgt. Martin. I frantically death-crawled to the slight incline of a hill that provided decent chances and I stood, swinging my rifle into position and I began to vigorously return fire despite the fact I knew it was improbable I would hit anything.

Shit, it was terrifying. Every time I finished a clip, I became convinced that I was about to get hit. It was a struggle, when I ducked down and had reloaded, to push myself back up so I could keep firing upon the enemy. I knew it needed to be done, though. Fuck, if I felt this way, so must they, if they were even human to begin with.

Gradually, day turned to night, and the firing eased off until it was nonexistant. A few foxholes were dug, and I jumped into mine with as much happiness as I could muster. We recieved a resupply of food and ammunition and attempted to settle in for the night. I dozed lightly with some trouble but I was awakened at around 0200 hours by a tap on my helmet. I looked up and saw Tab's face peering at me out of the gloom.

"Dani."

"Hey, Tab."

"It's your watch."

"Alright."

I climbed up and followed him over to where the guards were and quietly settled down, nodding to them as they ducked away to get some sleep, wondering where the hell my companion was. They were putting the guards in twos so one man didn't freak out and call alarm because he personally saw something and it turned out to be nothing. Two pairs of eyes was better than one when it came to guard duty.

The guard-hole was somewhere in the vicinity next to where 3rd Platoon had set up, since that was as close to a wide-panning view as you could get.

The bushes started to shake and quiver most threateningly. Gripping my rifle tightly in fear, I raised my weapon-only to have Liebgott's face pop out at me from the shrubs.

"Geezus." I whispered to him. "Scare the shit out of me, why don't you?"

"Dani." He acknoledged my existance kindly.

"Lieb."

"Got any coffee?" 

"Not that I know of."

He rubbed his eyes and pulled his gun against him more securely. We sat there, scanning the darkness warily and trying to stay functionally awake when he finally looked over at me.

"Are you sure we don't have any coffee?" 

"No, Lieb, I'm not."

"Fuck."

After two hours of that, McClung appeared out of the undergrowth, sleepily taking over from us while rubbing his eyes. Clapping him on the back and cheerfully wishing him good luck, I traveled back to my hole and slumped down, not knowing who else was in there and not caring.

I had just gotten resettled rather comfortably and my eyelids were sliding closed and hell, things were slipping back into delicious oblivion-when my conciousness was jolted back into awareness by yells for a medic.

After drowsily sitting still for a moment and attempting to clear my mind and figure out why I hadn't heard any gunfire, I finally clambered out of my foxhole and ran to go see what was wrong.

A curious sight met my eyes; Tab was propped up against a tree with a coat over his torso, insisting that he could breath in a rather strangled voice with Lieb and Doc Roe kneeling over him, Pfc. Smith in a foxhole next to the tree protesting in a broken voice that he thought he was a Kraut. I looked at it for a second before realizing that Smith had stuck Tab with his bayonet. Hissing a curse and practically sliding in next to Roe, I helped him get a bandage on before they hurriedly attempted to drag Tab to the aid station, conveniently located 30 kilometers away.

Right then, all I wanted was to get back to my hole and go to sleep. So I stood to my feet, brushed my hands off, and I started in the direction I was fairly sure my hole was only to bump into a form that was imposing, fit, muscular, and silent. Startled, I jerked my gaze up only to meet icy blue eyes.

"Ron."

"Dani. What are you doing here?" 

"Long story. Couldn't let you have all the fun, right?"

Silence greeted this rhetorical question and we walked along quietly and slowly.

"I heard something about you the other day." I finally said.

"No doubt while you were taking tea with the other men."

"Get over yourself. Just because I never played with dolls doesn't mean you can still tease me about it."

"Do I look like the type of man who would tease?" 

"Jack off it, Ron." He smirked. I got the feeling he never did that particular thing very often anymore. "And don't get me off-subject. Anyways. I heard you took the third gun at Brecourte."

"Hm."

"Shit."

"Mm."

"You're like, my hero right now."

"How long will _that_ last?" 

"The I-might-shit-in-my-pants feeling? About five minutes. Now I'm beginning to understand why the other men are so scared of you."

"I went up to a man today, he was from a different company. And just to see what would happen, I asked him if he wanted a smoke. He almost pissed his pants."

"Well it's no wonder." I retorted. "Shit, you scare the shit out of _me_."

"Thank you, Dani," he replied in a non-serious tone that you didn't hear much coming from him anymore, not since he was a teen. "That means alot."

As we chuckled quietly, a few twigs snapped and we shut up, Ron instinctively raising his hand to signal for me to completely quit moving. Obediently, I froze in a very uncomfortable position; with my neck stuck out like a chicken and my foot raised in the air to step over a fallen piece of log, I couldn't even gather the will-power to hiss the password.

I heard a cricket clack beside me and I looked over to realize Ron had pulled his out. There was a brief moment of silence before I peeked through the shrubs and realized he was in American uniform, which I could just barely see through the night.

Nudging Ron silently, I jerked my head over to where the American was frantically patting his pockets for his cricket. Ron decided to take mercy upon the poor soul and put him out of his misery.

"Flash." He said, plain as day, confident now that we knew he was an American who knew about the cricket and therefore should know the password.

"Thunder. THUNDER!" The soldier repeated a bit more loudly to make sure Ron had heard and we stepped out of the undergrowth. I recognized him just about instantly this time.

"Lieuteniant Speirs, sir." You could almost see the fear in his face, but it was clearly evident in his eyes for anyone who cared to look in them.

"Blithe." I nodded to him.

"Where you going, Private?"

"Check out the noise, sir."

"I just came from there, everything's under control."

"Sir."

We started to walk on and Blithe followed us through the undergrowth.

"Some nervous Privates in your company." Ron said to make conversation.

"...We do, sir. Yeah, we do. I can vouch for that."

"They just don't see how simple it is." He stopped walking. I almost walked into his back because I wasn't looking. Damn men who didn't tell me when they'd stopped walking at night-time...

"Simple... what is, sir?" 

Ron just looked at him and then back down at Johnny Martin, who had fallen asleep with his weapon in his hands, resting across his lap. Blithe slipped back into his hole.

"Just do what you have to do." Ron advised him wisely. Oh, yes, and that mystical observation was supposed to help the poor Private _how_, Ron?

"Like you did on D-Day, sir?"

I saw Johnny crack an eye at this, as if watching to see if Blithe would get shot down where he was. Ron, with a rather resigned expression, turned and started to walk off, but yet, Blithe decided to not only stick his own neck on the chopping block, but wield the knife as well.

"Lieuteniant." He said. Ron turned back. "Sir, when I landed on D-Day, I found myself in a ditch all by myself. I fell asleep." Johnny, deciding Ron would not kill Blithe, went back to sleep. "I think it was the air-sickness pills they gave us. When I woke up, I didn't really try to find my unit... to fight. I just-I just kind of stayed put."

"What's your name, trooper?" I couldn't see Ron's face because of his helmet, but I had a feeling he would only creep Blithe out some more and then walk away.

"I'm Blithe, sir. Albert Blithe."

"You know why you hid in that ditch, Blithe?" 

"I was scared." He still was. You could see it, plastered all across him, except now I understood it wasn't _just_ because of Ron. It was the entire setting.

"We're all scared." Ron knelt down so they were more eye-to-eye. "You hid in that ditch because you think there's still hope. But Blithe, the only hope you have is to accept that fact you're already dead. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner you'll be able to function as a soldier's supposed to function: without mercy, without compassion, without remorse. All war depends upon it."

We stood back up and we walked on. As soon as we were out of earshot, I elbowed Ron.

"Nice speech, professor."

"Want a cigarette?"

**It's VITAL that you review, guys. Pretty please?**


	9. 4: Buying Drinks of Liquor Like A Nixon

**A/N:** I apologize for taking so long to get this out. (And by that, I mean both the content of this chapter and how long it's been since I updated. But for the sake of being able to say 'I said it just for the sake of saying it': I tried not to rush any of it.

I hope the fact that this chapter is VERY long makes up for the fact that this chapter is VERY late.

**Chapter 9**** - Buying Drinks of Liquor Like A Nixon**

_I want to be laughed at, laughed with,_

_Just because I want to feel weightless,_

_And that should be enough._

"MORTAR!" And we were off again. Everything became a blur of bandaging bodies attached to all-too-familiar faces and moans of pain with a background of gunfire. Perhaps I became slightly more calloused to the wide-open stare of an almost-dead man gazing up at me as I tried to save his life but it was hard to say for sure. It was all around me; it was constant, consistent, persistent. I only know that after the first few men I recognized, I realized I didn't have _time_ to grieve. I had a job to do; I still had bandages on my person and I needed to use those bandages.

Someone shouted something about a Panzer and a few booms ensued, one a little close for comfort. Grabbing my helmet just to make sure it was still there, I bent back over my newest patient, trying and failing to empty my mind of the sounds of battle that surrounded me.

"SHERMANS! !" Someone yelled in my ear and, jerking upright, I knocked straight into Perconte, who knocked over Luz, who fell over and hit me in the head with his boot.

"GAHDAMNIT, PERCO!" I yelled in _his_ ear, trying to knock some hearing back into the ear that had been yelled into.

"THAT'S RIGHT, YOU SORRY ASSES, RUN!" Perco popped back up to yell to the Germans who were retreating across the field rather unsuccessfully before he picked his gun back up and started to shoot at them once again. Glaring at him, I finished up my bandaging and moved on, trying to get to as many wounded men as possible.

When, finally, I could not find another wounded man who did not have a bandage or had not already passed on, I sat down in the dirt, exhausted and emotionally drained, resting my head in my hands until I realized something was wrong and lifted my head to look at my hands.

They were covered in scarlet blood.

I was recruited to work at the aid station. Nobody really cared if I was an official medic or not, as long as I knew what the hell I was doing if I had my hands buried up to my wrists in some man's innerds. Just as long I would not be the final death of a dying man, I was left to my bloody work. It seemed, however, that they didn't make my task very easy. They kept sending out gahdamn patrols and getting more men wounded.

The days began to mix together in an unchanging variety of sleep, work with my hands in blood, try to clean up so I can eat a few bites, work with my hands in blood, sleep, and repeat. The day I thought was Tuesday ended up being Friday. The only thing I was sure of was what day after D-Day it was.

On one such evening, I was finishing up washing my hands in the stream. My stomach was urgently telling me it was time to eat. I was preparing to try and chomp down on a K-ration when I reached inside my jacket pocket and felt a material that was not cloth rub against my fingers. Frowning in confusion, I drew it out only to realize it was the letter I had forgotten all about.

My hands trembled as I began to open it, glancing around to make sure no one was watching, as if I was doing something I should be ashamed of. As a bad habit, I skimmed over the letter's grammar before reading to try and gauge the mood the writer had been in while writing it. It was _very _short, I could see that much. The sentences rather cut-off as usual, signifying she was in a bit of a hurry or simply did not know what else to say. Finally, I took another glance around, and bent my eyes to the paper I was holding within my quivering palms.

_**Foolish Girl,**_

_**What were you thinking of, going off and joining the Army? If it is to convince me that you are free from me, then go ahead and make yourself happy. I do not see how anyone culd care if you lived or died in the first place, just as your "comrades" wouldn't care if they ever discovered the truth about you, whih I am sure you hide well enough.**_

_**I do not see why you could not copy your trash mother and join the Nurse Corps; it's much easier to learn and I'm sure it would be easier for you to handle, since I know how much you struggle.**_

_**I assume this is yet another ridiculous idea implanted in your soft mind by that witch you call Aunt; I do not undernstand how you could be so weak-minded as to listen to what that good-for-hell would have to say.**_

_**If you left this ridiculous endeavor now, I might forgive you and consider taking you back in. However, if you do not, then you must be warned that I will not forgive you so easily and this graciousness will not be extended again.**_

_**You foolish child, you do not know what is wrong and right. I suppose it is foolish of me to expect any better from your or anything that came out of your mother to be worth something more than you, but you never cease to surprise me at your lack of competent thinking.**_

_**Angeline**_

My intent reading was interrupted by sounds of voices coming up and Perco dropped down next to me on the log I was sitting on.

"'Ey, Perco."

"Dani." He replied. "What's wrong?"

Meaning I looked like shit, of course.

"Nothing. Just reading a letter from home. If you tell anyone about this, I swear, Perco, you will be _very_ sorry because it will be _very_ painful and you will _not_ be able to have children let alone use the-"

"I get it." He smiled nervously. "Geezus."

"Fuck, my name ain't Geezus!" I folded the letter up and tucked it back inside my jacket, clearing my throat and preparing to try and forget about what I had been reading. At least Geoff wasn't old enough to join the army since he was only 17... "What's the news?"

He sighed, taking off his helmet and wearily ran his hand through his hair.

"Blithe got hit."

I was so used to hearing those two last words I only thought if I could help.

"When?" 

"Today. They needed to know what was in a farmhouse, and so apparently, he _volunteered_."

"No shit." I replied, not having the energy to summon up a yell of protest at this idiocy. 

"Yeah, right?" You never volunteer in the army, particularly the Airborne. Volunteering got you killed, everyone knew that. Well... apparently not e_veryone. _"He even volunteered point."

I groaned as heartily as I could in a way that did not require much effort. Oh, Blithe, how could you be so naive?

"And?"

"He got shot in the neck by a sniper. They think he's gonna make it."

"That's good."

"Mm. They're pulling us back to England."

"Shit. Seriously? You're not just fucking with me?" I questioned, incredulous at this newest turn of events, searching his face for a lie that I could not find.

"Seriously."

I hadn't had a shower in two weeks. I was dirty, smelled rancid, my hair was in the worst shams it ever had been, and my skin felt like it was crawling with the filth of a thousand battlefields.

"That news is so good, I could almost hug you but you smell too bad."

Perco wasn't lying, it turned out. They finally decided to give us a break and get us back to England. By the time they finally sent us reinforcements, we had been out in the field for two weeks, without a shower, without reprieve, and without a clean uniform. We cleaned up as best we could: scraping our uniforms to get rid of the dirt, washing most of the dirt and blood from our faces and hands, but it wasn't until we saw the men who would be relieving us from our position that we realized exactly how bad it was.

Their uniforms seemed impeccable when worn next to ours: clean, whole, warm, comfortable. Ours itched, had holes, blood, grime, and they stunk. Oh, boy, did they ever stink. You could almost smell them just by looking at them.

So of course the company walking past us, fresh from a bed and a good meal, looked at us in astonishment and disgust. We were almost ashamed of ourselves, even though we knew we had no cause to be.

After _two_ whole fucking_ weeks _of getting dirty and killing Krauts and getting tired of it, or, in my case, bandaging up wounded men and getting tired of it while squeezing off rounds when I couldn't find someone who was wounded and getting tired of that too, they were finally sending us back to England.

As many others said: "It was the only thing the army had ever gotten right."

At least now we knew the entire three-day-fighting-and-you-will-be-relieved was bullshit.

There was probably never a better sight in the world than that small town where we had camped out before we'd been sent off to D-Day, before we'd ever killed a man, before we had ever been tested in real, hardcore combat. Aldbourne was a precious sight for the sore eyes of the emotionally wounded man. For the sore ears, there was always the good news that we were to be given a leave.

Despite how welcome this news was, it dimmed somewhat when I looked around at the half-empty quarters and in the back of my mind, I began to get a niggling voice that said: "All these men have died in one go. What makes you so special? You're going to follow them into their graves even as you try to save them from going into the earth."

In other words: in one go, we had lost half of our barracks, which meant half of our troops were now either dead or wounded.

Some men took their leaves to Scotland, some (me included) to London, some all over the place. Wherever we were, we partied long; we partied hard. For the first few nights, Brits bought us drinks in thanks for our part in D-Day. But in a short weekend, we had broken more windows, shattered more glasses, drunk more beer, and started more fights than the Limey's hospitality could stand. It was the wildest week London had ever seen.

**...**

**London:**

_A group of men, gathered in a circle, each with a cup of beer in his hand, each downing said beer in a drunk impatience for more liquor that spoke of a quiet desperation._

It was the funniest yet most serious thing in the world.

"A dumbass is a dumbass is a dumbass!" Malarkey raised his glass, attempting to catch his drunken balance which had been upset just by that simple movement.

"I'll take that and raise you a dumbass is a dumbass who's a dumbass!" I shouted, whooping.

They erupted into noisy laughter. I joined in, draining my drink for the forty-third time.

"Like I always said!" I slurred. "A dumbass, who's a dumbass, is a dumbass." My head pounded giddily at the uproarously approving mirth that greeted this latest testament. "Now goodnight, boys. Your mamas will be disappointed if you come home after bedtime!"

Silence. And then we all burst back into laughter, one of the replacements hiccupping himself silly with a dazed grin plastered across his face.

Why was I here? To forget; to escape, I remembered. Escape! I began to laugh once again. How could I escape something that screamed in the slightest silence, that began to speak as soon as I was alone, that haunted me every dreaming and waking moment?

Was I to be left for dead upon the remaints of a bloody battlefield where the souls of men had died? Was I to be another casualty in an all-too-real war? Was I to be killed for having compassion towards another man?

'Fears prey upon a weak mind'. But if the mind is gone, then there is nothing for the fear to prey upon, I reased.

I needed another drink.

I needed another drink soon.

I needed another drink NOW.

The next thing I knew, I awoke with the remaints of the splitting headache of a London hangover in Aldbourne. The leave in London had gone by ridiculously fast; either that, or it just seemed like it because half of the time, I was too drunk to remember what happened.

The partying relaxed somewhat, once we reached Aldbourne and we had to behave ourselves like gentlemen (and gentlewoman-somewhat) should.

They played movies twice a week. Most of the time, it was nothing recent, so we settled for watching the same movies over again. Perco got tired of this, so he left Luz and I to happily memorizing the movies.

Some men commented: "It's like they're punishing us for fighting in Normandy."

The training was intense and grueling except this time around, we would have the evenings relatively easy and we could go socialize with the Aldbournians.

A week rolled by, and before we knew it, it was beginning into September. We had been given a few assignments to do with France, but the mission was cancelled before we ever got on a plane.

Replacements had started coming in but I had a bad feeling about most of them. They seemed so young, so inexperienced. It made me want to turn away and hide my face so they wouldn't see the inevitable truth of death.

I didn't want to taint them but it turned out I really had no choice.

**Sometime, Somewhere, Some Saturday Right After Arriving In Aldbourne: The Blue Boar.**

"Congratulations on the promotion, Dani!"

"Yeah, thanks, Gonorrhea. Now, instead of being a worthless jackass, I'm a worthless jackass in charge of worthless jackasses."

"Hey now," protested Malarkey good-naturedly.

"If the paratrooping boot fits!" I replied with an airy shrug, laughing and taking another sip of my beer. I wasn't sure how I had gotten promoted. They had said something about quick thinking in the heat of it all and saving my skin with my brain, or some such drivel.

While it was somewhat of an honor to be a Sergeant, I felt it was an unneeded nod from the authorities. I did not want it any more than a man wanted to die. I did not want to be responsible for these men and I knew that I could have turned the offer of promotion down, but I also knew that I had been the one handling the bandages and comforting the man about to die: I was the one who knew that at all costs, the lives of these men must not be wasted.

Sometimes, in my dreams, I killed that Kraut again. I would wake up with an uncomfortable itchy feeling, like I had something on my skin. Sometimes in my dream, he killed me, not the other way around.

I was startled out of these musing thoughts by a questioning:

"Ain't that right, Dani?"

Jumping half-out of my chair, I looked around, befuddled. The best answer I could come up with was the ever-so-coherent: 

"Huh?"

They laughed.

"Doesn't Bill here need to keep his hands to himself?" Johnny Martin chuckled at the look on my face. Bull, Johnny, Bill, and Malark all had their eyes fixed on me, waiting for an actual response, no doubt.

They had probably been talking about the incident where Bill and some other dumbass had some broads stay the night and then put them up in the attic while Bill suffered through inspection or some such by Lieuteniant Peacock. It was all fine and dandy, Peacock was turning to leave, when all of a sudden, one of the girls' weight broke through attic floor and her leg was just dangling out of the ceiling. When Peacock asked what it was, Bill innocently answered that it looked like it was a broad's leg and since Peacock just had to discover _both_ of the girls, Bill said that they were both with him. Of course, Peacock ratted him out.

Chortling at the memory of Peacock's face as he came out of Bill's lodgings (I had been walking past) and shaking my head at the entire incident, I finally drained my cup and said to the four men:

"Well, you know ol' Wild Bill. He just can't be tamed." I winked at him and went to go get another beer.

Men started to leak back from the hospital. Smokey Gordon (a boil on his shin, shrapnel through his leg, and in his shoulder-but, like a true'n'blue Easy man, he said he only wanted the boil lanced but got forced to the hospital anyway) and Floyd Talbert being two of the most prominent I saw.

I was quartered with Smokey. One day, Smokey mentioned that Tab wouldn't get a Purple Heart and some drunk dumbass started laughing about it. After I punched him (the dumbass, not Smokey), I calmly went back to cleaning my M1, looking up at Smokey as a thought crossed my mind.

"Why won't he get a Purple Heart?" 

He looked up at me as if I should know this one.

"Because he wasn't wounded by the enemy."

I snorted.

"Total bullshit."

As if he had been waiting for an opportunity but debating the wisdom of it, Smokey approached me after another minute.

"Dani?" 

"Yeah?" I asked absently as I inspected the shining barrel.

"I want to give Tab a Purple Heart."

"That's very generous of you, Smokey."

"How do you suppose I should go about it?"

I thought for a second, stopping my hand from its motions with the rag to ponder that question.

"A poem. Entertainment for the men, plus a joke on Tab and Smith, ending with a nice gesture towards Tab and everyone's happy."

"I ain't so good with rhymes."

"Well, why didn't you just say so?"

**Dinner That (Late) Afternoon:**

Smokey stood up. I grinned encouragingly at him from across the room as he made his way to the front of the room and examined the first page of lyrics. The men, sensing something was going on, quieted down.

"**The Night of the Bayonet!**

_The night was filled with dark and cold_

_When Sgt. Talbert, the story's told_

_Pulled on his poncho and headed out_

_To check the lines, dressed like a Kraut._"

George, who was sitting next to me, nudged me me and said: "Don't tell me. You had a hand in this."

I gave him the wide-eyed innocent look that always came when I was accused of something.

"Me? Whyever would you suspect _me_? Isn't this the very face of innocence right here?" And I promptly looked away before he could answer, leaning backwards slightly to pat Malark's back as he sat down behind us.

_"Upon a trooper, our hero came_

_Fast asleep, he called his name:_

_Smith, oh Smith! Get up, it's time_

_To take your turn out on the line!"_

A few replacements a couple benches away asked each other (in a disgruntled fashion) if the other had any idea what Smokey was talking about.

One smartass said: "The night of the bayonet," before they both looked at him and he admitted he had no idea what that was.

_"But Smith, so very weary,_

_Cracked an eye, all red and bleary_

_Grabbed his rifle, he did not tarry_

_Hearing Floyd, but seeing Jerry!_

_It's me, cried Tab, don't do it!_

_Yet Smith charged toot sweet with bayonet;_

_He lunged, he thrust, both high and low_

_And skewered the boy from Kokomo._"

One of the muttering replacements rose to head back to barracks, but Bill stopped him and started talking to him about South Philly. The replacement-whose name was Heffron, "Babe" Heffron-ended up making us squash up because Bill told him to sit with us.

_"And as they carried him away,_

_Our punctured hero was heard to say,_

_'When in this war you venture out,_

_best never do it dressed as a Kraut!'"_

This ending seemed to be to the men's liking, despite Tab's disgruntled expression.

"Since you weren't wounded by the enemy, and thus didn't qualify for a purple heart, we've taken matters into our own hands. Tab, this is for you." Smokey unpinned one of his Purples and held it up, much to the applause and agreement of the men.

"I coulda shot the kid a dozen times..." Tab boasted to save face. "I just... didn't think we could spare a man!"

Snorting, I thought of a dozen lines that I could have said at that exact moment-but I decided to be nice and let Tab keep his dignity.

"All credits for the poem go to the one and only Dani Shoemakerrrrr!" Smokey called out right when I thought I was safe, loud enough for everyone to hear. 

"HEY!" I yelled, half-rising out of my seat in indignation as Smokey's betrayal. "I TOLD YOU I DIDN'T WANT TAB OUT TO KILL ME!"

There was laughter all around as Tab lightly slapped me on the back of the head and Lip stepped up to the front as Smokey and I sat back down while Luz gave me a knowing look.

"Couple of announcements, men. First, listen up: first, the training excercise scheduled for 2200 has been cancelled." Cheers came from all around, but I studied Lip's face without saying anything. "Secondly. All passes are hereby revoked. We're heading back to France, so pack up all your gear. We will not be returning to England, boys. Anyone who has not made out a will, go to the supply office. Trucks depart from Membury at 0700. As you were."

It wasn't until we got our gear on the next day that we found out the jump was cancelled because our objective had been taken. There was much shouting and enthusiastic fist-pumping (or something along those lines).

**September 13, 1944, Wednesday evening.**

I'd had a few meetings with my friend The Cup Brimming Full of Beer but had finally decided to go seek out some company. So, sauntering over to the Blue Boar, I cheerfully ordered another drink before turning to find a familiar face to tell th-

"Hello, Sarge." A voice beside me greeted, as if he was happy to see me. It was Pvt. John Reims: replacement.

"Hellooo, Private." I returned. I would have been thanking my lucky stars that I could hold my liquor right then, but I didn't have any lucky stars except the star on my jumpwings, signifying I had made a combat jump (and lived through the experience).

"Sarge, come tell th-"

"Dani Shoemaker." I must have half-expected his voice to sound out from behind me because I didn't jump in the slightest. Winking at Reims, I turned while saying: 

"Sorry, Reims. You'll have to tell it this time."

"But, Sarge-"

I had already turned on my seat and raised my eyebrows at George Luz.

"Where have you been?" He asked.

"At The Crown." I answered, grinning, delighted for no absolute reason.

"I was waiting for you." He whined.

"Waiting for me, Georgie?" I chortled in return, digging through my pocket to find some more money so I could get my beloved beer. At last, I found some and got another beer, noting with the deepest sorrow my dwindling stash for the night.

"Yeah, come on, you promised me you would play darts with me."

"But, George!" I protested, laughing as he dragged me away to carry out this promise. "I suck at darts!" 

"Should have thought of that before you promised!" He replied in a sing-song voice and I pouted at his lack of sympathy.

He was winning when Buck's voice came from over my shoulder.

"What's this?" 

"'Ey, Buck." I said cheerfully, raising my glass to him and draining it in honor of his arrival. "George is beating my ass at darts." Thunking the cup back down on the table, I began to dig in my pockets for money once again.

"Well, we can't have that. How about we try and beat him together, Dani?" 

I grinned up at my savior. That is, until he started playing with his left hand.

"Buck!" I exclaimed. "Don't take it easy on his sorry ass!"

"Well, he's so horrible at darts in the first place, I might as well." He turned to take his shot.

Just then, a body shoved up against my back and I stumbled forward, grabbing onto the nearest firm object I could lay my flailing hands upon. It staggered backwards before its hands cupped my elbows as I gripped its shoulders-wait, what? I looked up, straight into the soft brown eyes of one George Luz. In that one split second, I realized I hadn't really ever thought of his eyes before.

"You okay?" He asked. I found myself struck dumb.

I stared at him for a moment, feeling like a paddle was churning my stomach as if my digestive system was milk being made into cream and a lightning bolt was hitting me, all at once, and I looked at him with new eyes.

I saw the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. I could feel every one of the muscles in his broad shoulders. I saw the shape of his lips as they moved. I felt the air of humor he almost constantly carried with him. His gentle gaze was slightly questioning as he looked down at me, waiting for a response, for me to move, for me to jump out of his steadying arms and say a few curses to the replacement who had walked right into me.

"You okay?" He repeated.

"Yeah," I replied, looking at him for one long moment. "Yeah, I'm fine." Somehow, I'd never felt better.

It was his turn to shoot, so I was left to rubbing my chin in confusion over what had just happened and how painfully conscious I was of the little glances he would send my way, waiting for me to laugh at his latest joke.

I'd had too many beers, I decided, beginning my search for money in my pockets more frantically. At last, I found the final bit and went to the counter. It wouldn't help, but somehow, I simply needed the embrace of beer slipping down my throat. Beer, you never looked at differently. Beer didn't have soft brown eyes that crinkled when Beer smiled. Beer _didn't_ smile. I loved Beer.

Some replacement came up to me and started asking me about my experience with the Krauts. It took my mind off of what had just happened, but it became a nuisance after about three seconds.

When I finally found my way back over, George, Buck, Joe Toye, and "Babe" Heffron were shooting darts. There was one _very_ off-center dart in the board. I was guessing they had been at it for a little while, since Heffron had a smile on his face, and Buck's eyes were twinkling as he lined up his left hand with the dart board, trying to get it ri-

"Oh!" I exclaimed, horribly laughing at the horribly off-mark shot and the horrible load of bullshit they were horribly putting Heffron through before I stopped horribly laughing and felt horrible for horribly laughing in the first horrible place.

"Alright now, Lieuteniant, nice and easy, we still got a sho-"

Buck fired. Buck missed. Buck hid a smile from Heffron.

"Tough break. You're having a tough night, people have tough nights." George said to mock-comfort Buck after Buck had thrown a very misdirected dart in the general direction of the dart board.

"I'm sorry, George."

"It's alright."

"Nice shot, sir." Bull said with a rather admirable poker face as he gathered the darts Buck had shot (and missed) and handed them back to him.

"Thank you, Bull." He gave Bull and I a rather amused smile as he handed the darts to one Pvt. Babe Heffron. "Heffron, finish me up." Buck knew I knew what was going on as well as I knew that he knew that I knew. Beginning to pat my pockets for more dough, I couldn't find any, so I turned to Bill, who was watching this episodette of Buck's accuracy, and I raised my eyebrows at him. Guarnere knew what was happening just as well as I did, minus the whole Buck-knew-that-I-knew-that-he-knew.

"Buy me a drink, Bill?" I asked with a pleading gaze.

"You can buy yourself a drink, Dani, with all that dough you got paid." He retorted and I clutched a hand to my heart, dramatically swaying for the full affect, deciding not to tell him that I sectioned off my dough so I could gamble and I currently didn't have any on me.

"Oh, I'm mortally wounded!"

Just then, Heffron shot victoriously, and as everyone was nodding in approval at his mad skills, Gaurno turned and with an audacious wink in my direction, said to Heffron: "You're embarassing the lieuteniant. Here, have a drink." He handed Babe the glass.

"'Ey, don't mind if I do, Sarge!"

I mock-scowled at Bill, but he simply ignored me and kept speaking to Babe.

"Better start winning money soon, I think your buddies are starting to miss you."

"Yeah, they do look kinda sad, don't they?"

Johnny Martin walked up beside me as Bull Randleman joined the conversation: "They just serious fightin' men, that's all."

One of the 'serious fighting men' blew a stream of smoke through his uplifted and slightly parted mouth, probably like he had seen in the movies. Did he even shave?

"Well," Guarno replied, "I think I am going to introduce myself."

"Be careful what you say now," Bull cautioned, "it don't take much to set my guys off."

"Yeah, you got some wild-eyed killers right there, Bull!" Johnny retorted dryly.

Behind me, I heard Luz and Compton talking about what would have happened if they were betting (nothing good) and Heffron wanted to make a bet (Luz and Compton didn't) and it finally settled for a pack of smokes on the first one to hit the bulls-eye (despite the fact that Luz and Compton 'didn't know much about gambling'), and then two packs (two packs, four guys). Buck lined up to shoot determinedly.

Glancing back to the Wild-Bill-Guarnere-Meets-Replacements scene, I saw Guarno 'introducing himself', which involved sitting down in Babe's seat and telling Hashey that he didn't care if it was fucking Eisenhower's seat.

Gonorrhea looked at another guy, fairly new replacement-I wouldn't have known, Dani you dumbass-and said: "Who're you?" Quite bluntly.

"Uh. Private Miller. James Miller. I'm in Sergeant Randleman's squad."

"Us too, I'm Les Hashey." Hashey cut in.

"Tony-"

"Garcia. I know who you are. Ol' Gonorrhea don't miss nothing," and he promptly took a swig out of Miller's glass. I stifled a laugh.

Just then, I felt a finger tap my sleeve and I turned around to see George Luz grinning at me.

"Hey, Dani, watch this," he whispered, and I sidled over a bit more so I could see better. "Lieuteniant, uh, you gonna shoot leftie all night?" George asked innocently. Buck tried to give him half of a glare but utterly failed. Heffron turned to stare inquiringly. "Just curious, 'cause he's right-handed!" George explained angellicly. Buck switched hands and very quickly took aim while talking.

"George, what would I do without George Luz?"

"BOOP! OHHHHH!" George yelled as the dart hit the bulls-eye. "Goodness gracious."

"Two packs, gentlemen!" Buck turned to grin at George as Buck gestured to hand over the cigarettes.

"I know you got 'em, pay up." George added, pointing to Heffron and Toye. With a mild squeeze to his (still-as-broad-as-it-had-been-forty-five-minutes-ago shoulder), I turned back to where Guarno was telling a story.

"-Getting ready to get on the plane for that first frog town we never jumped into. All of a sudden, Heffron stops dead in his tracks. Bing and a bang and a boom, everybody's banging into each other and everything-Heffron's just staring up at the nose of the plane _because_, on it is painted this beautiful pin-up and written underneath: 'Darling Doris'. Doris just happens to be the name of the skirt who just _that day_ sent Babe one of them letters. Y'know, the the-Web, what do you call them letters that the broads send?" He asked Webster, who had been listening to the entire thing.

"Uh, a 'Dear John' letter."

"That's it. A 'Dear Babe' letter!" He chuckled at his own joke. "Anyway, lucky for Babe, Patton overruns our drop zone. Mission canceled. In other words, Babe don't have to risk getting inside old Doris again. HAAAA!" I chuckled, just like I did every single time I heard that story and then promptly turned to George, who was still talking with Buck, waited for a lull in the conversation, and then dove in.

"'Ey, George, to celebrate, buy me a drink." I gave him a pathetic grin as he turned to look at me.

"What'sa matter, Dani, lose your money?" He returned.

"Would you buy me a drink if I said yes?" 

"Probably not."

"I didn't think so."

Shaking my head at this uncaring show of manliness, I turned back to say something to Bull, only to find him watching Cobb leaning over Miller. Easing through the crowd of bodies, I listened intently to what Cobb was saying.

"-Ick, where'd you get that?" He reached out and twaddled the Citation the regiment had been given. 

"It's a Presidential Distinguished Unit Citation," Miller began confidently, but then he began to get more uncertain about Cobb's intent. "For uh," he exchanged glances with Garcia; "for what the regiment did in Normandy."

"That's right! For what the _regiment _did. You weren't there." Cobb stared at Miller hard, almost accusingly, as if it was a criminal act to be replacing a man who had died in battle.

"Hey. Hey. Ease up, Cobb, hm? It's a unit citation." Hoobler soothed, having heard the whole thing.

Cobb simply turned back and watched Miller, with an expectant look in his eyes. The damage had been done. Miller unpinned the citation from his uniform, looking at it for a moment before he laid it on the table, standing up to leave and seeing Bull watching him, expression unreadable. Miller left silently.

Cobb swallowed as Bull walked over and picked up the citation, also looking at it for a moment before looking up to pull his cigar out of his mouth.

"Shit, Cobb," he said, "you didn't fight in Normandy neither."

My eyes widened and I turned away before I bitch-slapped Cobb for what he did to that poor boy Miller, hearing a thump and Cobb's voice saying: "I got hit on the plane before I got a chance to jump."

"Hey, y'all! Listen up! I got us an announcement to make." Smokey called from where he was standing on the fireplace, pulling Lip up next to him from where he had been standing with two other men. I moved back to my position standing next to George, even though Miller was now standing in front of me. "This here is Carwood Lipton-"

"He's already married, Smokey!" Malarkey called. There were chuckles all around before Smokey continued as if Malark hadn't just said that.

"-This here is Carwood Lipton, the new Easy Company First Sergeant!"

"YEAH, BOY!" I yelled above the noise of all the other men; the phrase Lip could often be heard to say and he chuckled, looking down a bit abashedly.

"As befitting his position, he says he has to make an announcement."

"Well. Hate to break the mood here, boys, but uh... we're moving out again."

Everyone was quiet as the men who had been there already drank up their beer and treasured every last drop of it so they could have something to look back on and the men who hadn't been there tried to grasp the reality that soon, they would see some action. I looked over at George, who was in the middle of giving me a very long side-long glance.

"So, George! Does this mean you'll buy me a drink?"

"Geezus, Dani. You'd think you were Lieuteniant Nixon!"


	10. 4: Sherberty Herbert

**A/N: Aren't you proud of me? I updated twice in less than a week! Even if one of the chapters is super long and the other a pretty short filler-type deal... details ;) gotta balance it out somewhere, you know?**

**Anyways. I'm going to try to have another update up by Sunday. Even that's a stretch for me because, well, to be honest: I work concessions (not popcorn, guys) for a music venue, we have a show Friday and a show Saturday. My friend, the fabulous booker of almost all the shows that take place in that building, has asked me to do **_**both**_** shows because he will be out of town Friday (helping my friend, his brother, move), and he said he needed my help Saturday. I'd like to think it's because he missed my smiling little face, but no, I'm pretty sure it's not. ANYWAYS! I've gotten carried away. Chapter. R & R. (:**

**Chapter 10 ****- Sherberty Herbert**

I awoke with a headache and enough remorse to suit the army's bill.

"Dani Shoemaker, you lazy ass, out of bed, now."

Obediently tumbling out of my bedding and instantly regretting it, I raised my eyes up to Lieuteniant Welsh's face.

"Five more minutes?"

"Get off the floor." There was a mild hint of amusement in his voice.

"Three more?"

"Shoemaker."

"One more?" 

"_Shoemaker._"

"Thirty seconds?" 

"**Shoemaker.**"

"I'm up, I'm up." I sprawled back down across the ground, shutting my eyelids and trying to block out the world as I hugged the floor with absolutely no wish to leave.

"Perconte, make sure she actually gets ready this time."

"Sir."

"Perco, where art thou?" I mumbled, not opening my eyes.

"Brush your teeth before you speak with my face in front of you again."

I cracked an eyelid open and checked if he was still there before chortling.

"Dani, I'm serious."

"I just blew in your face, Perco. How does it feel to have your orders disobeyed?" 

"Lazy ass. Up. Now."

"Yessir, Mr. I'm So Powerful Because I'mma Non-Com Malarkey."

"Damn right. And don't you forget it."

"I had a really weird dream." I continued dreamily, rolling over and finally sliding one eye open. And there was one thing in that dream that was right out of my grasp but I had a feeling it was really important. What was it? ...Soft brown eyes...?

"Very interesting. You can tell me all about it while you get your clothes on."

"But I dun WANNA get my clothes on, Mama!" 

"Shall I put them on you _for_ you?" 

"Getting my clothes on, Mama." I climbed to my feet reluctantly and grabbed my OD's. "Frank, have I ever told you I love you?" 

"That's very sweet of you, Dani. What trouble are you in?" 

"Can you get me some water?" I couldn't believe my good luck when he actually did. "I had a really weird dream." I repeated as he returned. "I came up with this nickname for Guarnere, and then Luz beat my ass at darts, aaaand..." I was trying to remember something else from my dream when I felt a full cup of water hit my face. "GAHDAMNIT, PERCO, I'M GETTING FUCKING DRESSED!"

"You asked for some water."

"Smart ass." I was now awake, though. And I wanted to hit Perco's smug mug because he knew I was now awake and it was all his fault.

"Oh, look who's talking." Perco snorted.

"Anyway. I called Gonorrhea Wild Bill, ain't that funny, Perco?"

"Dani. That happened last night."

I looked at him. He wasn't fucking.

"Aw, SHIT." I groaned, thinking of those soft brown eyes as those brown eyes became more and more clear. I could only hope that _was_ a dream and I hadn't gone to bed with some replacement. But wait. Lipton... "Does that mean we're really going to war again?"

"Where's Dani?" I heard my favorite voice from the doorway.

I waltzed (no, not really) out from the room I had been changing in, checking the condition of the state of my uniform.

"Georgio!" I walked into the room, straightening my jacket, looking up. "Why, George. You have brown eyes." I smiled at him happily. The eyes from my dream were softer. 

He turned to look at Perco.

"I think she finally cracked." Was all Perc would say.

Walking outside, I was somehow brought crashing back down to complete reality. There were transporting vehicles everywhere, men loading up.

"Shit, my gear-" I began to turn back into the building.

"Loaded up, Dani. Geezus, you're 30 minutes late." George said, taking my arm and pulling me towards a group of men who hadn't loaded up yet.

"How many times must I tell you, my name isn't Geezus!" I protested as we joined the group. Then, I heard the F-bomb.

"Hey, hey, hey." I said, gently hitting the back of Lieb's head. "There's a lady here now, so watch the fucking language."

"Oh, sure, Dani, as if you don't curse more than I do." He retorted.

"Dani, decided to finally join us?"

"Yes, Malark. Whatsa matter, did your motorcycle not make it?"

"She was detained."

"I see. Poor bloke."

Malarkey and More had stolen-no, _commandeered_-an army motorcycle and promptly started riding it around all of Aldbourne. Unfortunately, it did not seem that the ol' girl would be joining us.

Suddenly, I remembered Lip's announcement and before I knew it, we were climbing into the back of the truck, which were there to carry us away, but not to some magical land or into the sunset: they were there to carry us back off to war. We none of us wanted to return to the battlefield so we talked to keep our mind off of things even as the vehicle entrapping us transported us to our next destination.

"Now just think, boys: we wouldn't be here if not for Captain Sobel." Some ass reminded us. I wasn't sure who it was but I snorted in scorn anyway.

"You mean Sherbert Sobel? Oh, yes, he is _totally_ responsible for our being on this mission because, you know, he just thought this entire thing up and then ran it past Montgomery, _just_ to aggravate us." I retorted, tone dripping with a sardonic type of agreement.

"Sherbert Sobel? You're full of it." The same voice said. I had no idea who it was but I knew where it was coming from. It was probably a replacement or something of the sort.

"Me, full of it? No. The two are very similar: overly soft, dripping, and need to kept in the freezer. In fact, the only difference is the fact that Sobel does not look like he tastes good."

"You sure 'bout that?" Came from the exact same direction the voice had before, except this time it belonged to George Luz. I laughed before I could help myself.

"You bastard."

When the truck finally stopped and we climbed out, we were surrounded by a familiar sight of tents everywhere and men walking around with not only equipment, but also the solemn expressions they bore.

"Home sweet home." I snarked.

"Geezus, you're becoming as bad with the jokes as Luz." A skinny man said as he passed by.

"Gahdamnit, Lieb, my name ain't Geezus."

We were led into one of the many tents to be, well, informed of the informing information needed to inform us of the information. If that made any sense.

"As you can see, this is called Operation Market Garden." Now-Captain Winters told us, standing in front what would have looked like a professional fourth-grade geography project if I didn't know better. "In terms of Airborne divisions involved, this one's even bigger than Normandy. We're dropping deep into occupied Holland. The Allied objective is to take this road here," he pointed to a thin line crossing the map, "between Eindhoven and Arnhem, so the two British armored divisions can move up it toward Arnhem. Our job is going to be to liberate Eindhoven, stay there, wait for the tanks."

He nodded once and stepped off the small platform so Nixon could step up in his place.

"The entire European advance has been put on hold to allocate resources for this operation. It's Montgomery's personal plan, we'll be under British command."

"Brilliant." I muttered sarcastically, shifting in my seat. Bill, standing next to me, silently glanced at me. I knew without him having to tell me; he quite shared my opinion.

"The good news is," Nixon continued, "if this works, these tanks will be over the Rhine and into Germany. That could end the war and get us home by Christmas. It'll be a daytime job, intelligence doesn't expect much opposition. They think the Krauts in Holland are mostly kids and old men. And we should take them by surprise. In any case, say goodbye to England, I don't think they're gonna call this one off."

We all headed outside to check out our gear. Somehow, I wished Joe Toye would kneel on the ground and start bitching about the weight of the equipment but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, all I saw was replacements bitching about the weight of the equipment-which was actually nowhere near as bad as that damn legbag in Normandy.

I was somehow stuck with the task of walking around and making sure all of the equipment was in good order, checking the various buckles and snaps and belts that made up a harness. It was a strenuous task: I would often have to kneel and adjust one that was lying on the ground because the soldier couldn't figure out what was wrong with it. In a matter of minutes, my knees were protesting most violently but I stoicly kneeled down and took the punishment for having replacements join the company.

Meanwhile, the sound of trucks approaching began to draw closer and closer and finally, as they grew to an almost-roar, I stood up to take a look at what had been brought to meet our needs.

"HOLY SHIT!" I yelled, jumping backwards, (and accidentally) right into the conveniently-passing-me George Luz, and, as if I was a little kid and I was convinced there was a monster hiding in my bedroom closet, I stage-whispered: "HIDE ME."

"What the-" He began to say but then he saw the jeep as it stopped almost in front of us and none other than S-herbert Sobel stepped out, his eyes fixed on me for one brief moment. As I shot up straight and tall because I didn't want him to think I was hiding from him, I had a sudden recollection of that one certain time we were running up a little molehill and he deigned to shout at me that I wasn't good enough and I would never make it.

I was momentarily tempted to shout IN YOUR FACE, MOTHERFUCKER in an impression of General Taylor, but he turned away so my concentrate-on-glaring-at-Sobel-in-shock moment was broken and I was free to see who had accompanied him.

"POPEYE!" I called joviantly, swaggering up to give him a one-armed hug as he explained to Lip and Bull that he had busted out of the hospital and Sobel the Ignoble Cobalt Snowball had picked him up in Aldbourne trying to find Easy Company. Sobel the Ennobled Bogle had told him to "hop in".

I would have thought Popeye was fabricating the entire story if I had not seen him in the jeep standing on the seat behind Sobel with my own eyes. Listening with one ear as Lip explained why Sobel the Sobbing Bobblehead was here in the first place, I scanned the area for anybody who needed an equipment check-up. Finally, not seeing anyone, I cheerfully sauntered over to where Skip Muck and Malarkey were standing, winking at Skip as he checked off a clipboard of items.

"Equipment all good, Dani?" 

"As far as I can see, Skip."

In more hushed tones than his _Kamerad_, Malark whispered:

"What's Sobel doing here?" 

"He's the newly appointed S4."

"No shit."

"Yeah, ri-"

Just then, More crossed in front of us, muttering to Malarkey:

"Hey, Mal, over there." He jerked his head in a general direction before hurrying off as if afraid to be caught in the deed of innocently pointing something out to someone.

It turned out it wasn't so innocent. Sitting in the back of the supply truck was a certain motorcycle. Skip and I attempted to hide our smiles: I by scuffing my foot against the ground and Skip by, well, being rather obvious about _not _hiding his smile.

"Son of a bitch!" Malark whispered and we took one long moment to regard the bike before starting to turn awa-

"Malarkey."

At the exact same time, Skip and I suddenly thought of something else we needed to do and hurried away, not wanting to be dragged into it. Risking a glance behind me, I almost giggled at the look on Sobel's (smug) mug and Malark's (doomed) face.

"Oooh, he in DIPSHIT now." I murmured to Skip. He chanced a look and quickly agreed before we amiably nodded and took our momentary-and-completely-inabsolute leave of each other.


	11. 4: Bastards Grab Ass

**A/N: My brother has been watching The Muppets Show on YouTube. This chapter was inspired by Fozzy's little introduction for Nancy Walker. I doubt anyone on here has seen that show/movie/whatever, but if there IS someone reading this who has: I bet you never thought you'd see a war fanfic's chapter partly inspired by the Muppets. HAHA! Sweet joy.**

**I have decided (dundundun) to update every week on either Saturday, Sunday, or somewhere in-between. xD**

**Chapter 11**** - Bastards Grab Ass**

**September 17, 1944: Sunday.**

After three days of preparing, it was finally the big day. Word was we were going to jump today. Since it was a daytime jump, I was fairly confident about what was going to go down, both literally and figuratively. I hadn't gotten killed the last time I jumped and that was in the pitch black with a bunch of clackers. I was, however, slightly worried. I might not have gotten killed but that was probably just luck. What would happen this time?

"Hey, George, what do you think they did with the leg bags?" 

"I dunno, Dani, what did they do with the leg bags?" 

"Damn, it's not the end of the world. Lighten up. Geez."

"I was supposed to get hit last time."

"What?" 

"The leg bag was so heavy and with my radio, I knew I wouldn't be able to get out of the door if I stayed fifth in the stick, so I traded with Cobb."

I finally understood what he was getting at. As Cobb had told Garcia, he had gotten hit before he had gotten the chance to jump out of the plane.

"Gawge. Let me tell you something someone wiser than myself once said."

"Someone wiser than the great Dani? Nooo."

"You think you're really funny, don't you?" 

"Someone has to be." The way he smiled at me clearly indicated he didn't think I was funny.

"Ha ha ha." I replied sarcastically. "I love you too. Back to my point: my mother once told me... she said... something I'll never forget..."

He just looked at me.

"I FORGOT!" I wailed. He started laughing. "But seriously, Gawge." I said, slinging an arm across his shoulders. "I'm the person behind you in the stick and-hey, Doc, have you got a bandage on you?" Roe handed one to me. "Thanks. Alright, Georgie, you get hit, I'm right behind you, I slap this on you, you stay alive, deal?" 

"That's so very reassuring." He replied in a tone that stated it was _not_ very reassuring except this time, he was teasing.

"But of course," I added, "I could simply decide to let you bleed to death..."

"I think I preferred the first option."

"Yeah, well, now you might not get it."

"At least I'll always have your complaints that someone grabbed your ass again."

"Here I was, hoping it wouldn't happen and you just fucking jinxed me!"

A hand found its way to my ass. Whirling around, I glared most ferociously at the culprit.

"Bill Guarnere, what have I told you about _my_ ass? It's off limits, remember?"

"Well, you know ol' Wild Bill. I just can't be tamed." He returned, winking at me cheerfully as I groaned heartily. I should have known that would come back to haunt m-

I felt a hand grab my ass.

"GEORGE!"

Our flight to-and-over Holland was quiet; the replacements probably thought it was intense, but I was simply revelling in how flak-free it was. George needn't have thought of Normandy since Holland was practically the opposite. I suddenly found myself buried in memories of how I had gotten here: the way I had been discovered, the many ass-grabs I had suffered through, running up a bloody mountain behind George...

The red light flicked on, startling me out of my reverie. As we all climbed to our feet, hooked up, and began to check the other guy's equipment, I absently wondered if the hand behind me would find its way to my ass sometime in the next few minutes. Someone else needed to get their ass grabbed this time. Finally, I heard the yell: "Sound off for equipment check!"

The calls were lost in the roar of the engines until I heard someone shout in my ear "Five okay!" and a hand slapping my arm. For once, no ass-grabbing. Yet.

"Four okay!" I yelled in George's ear, but instead of clapping his shoulder, I gave his ass a hearty grab. He didn't even jump. Dammit.

The first ju-the secon-thir-Geor-I was in the doorway, then I was falling through the air, and with a violent jerk, my 'chute opened and I found myself floating above an open field, brightly lit by sunshine. My feet and then my satisfactorily un-grabbed ass found the incredibly soft ground. Quickly rolling to my feet, I untangled myself from my 'chute and ran off with the rest of the men to go find some trouble.

Actually, we started dramatically running through the fields to get to our objective, which was actually a bridge over the Wilhelmina Canal at Son, marked by smoke grenades. The route was over a north-south road that ran from Eindhoven to Veghel to Nijmegen to Arnhem.

What else? Oh, yeah. We got to blow this fucking bridge up. Just dandy, but no big deal, you know, only an exploding bridge, with pieces of timber exploding into your face and whatnot. Then, we happily continued onwards, finally coming upon a road. Along this road ran a ditch and we all climbed in, waiting for orders as we crouched or sat down.

Eventually, Hoobler became restless and, smiling cheerfully as he went past me, he climbed back out of the ditch and jogged off, who the hell knows where to. Minutes ticked by. A horse and cart was rattling by when Hoobler, out of nowhere, jumps back in the ditch, scaring the shit out of a replacement.

"I think I love Holland." He announced, showing off the bottles he held in his hands. He held one out to me. I shook my head. I didn't have a thirst at that particular moment. Webster arrived only a few seconds after Hoobler, sighing in relief.

"Boys. Whoo! I made it!"

Airplanes roared overhead, flying in the opposite direction of the one we were facing, as if they were deserting us.

"I wonder if they hit anything." Hoobs mused aloud.

"Goodbye air support." Webster replied in a dreary voice.

Lieuteniant Peacock half-walked, half-crouched along the line of men, making the perfect picture of a civilian in an officer's clothes-no idea what the shit he was doing.

"There's some kind of hold-up ahead. We're going in through this field here." He told Bull Randleman, pointing over his right shoulder at the field we had been sitting next to the entire time. No shit! We hadn't just been sitting on the ground waiting for our Mummies to bring us a picnic? Big surprise.

Bull just nodded once, turned backwards, and gestured to move out in a very G.I. Joe fashion. We scrambled to our feet and out of the entrenchment, beginning to walk very slowly through a field of very tall stalks, keeping our eyes open for anything that moved or breathed. We could see a few buildings of Eindhoven already and at the end of the field, there was a fence, cutting us off rather ineffectively (we could probably all vault over a fence, no problem).

Suddenly, as we neared this fence, a window in one of the structures opened. A few men darted forward to the fence to aim their guns at the window in case there was anything deadly preparing to happen. I knelt to the ground quickly, raising my rifle and sighting down the barrel, my arm steady and comfortable with the faithful M1 in my hands.

Instead of a Kraut machine gun being set up or something of the like, all I could see was a middle-aged woman, all in black, tying a very long orange flag to the side of the house by way of the window sill.

We all lowered our weapons and, after a few seconds, continued on.

As we began to trickle in, I noticed it was mostly silent except for a faint singing, which I took to be mass or something of the like. After all, it was Sunday and who knew what time, so they were probably in church.

We started to find our way along the roads and alleys, and it seemed that all at once, we rounded a corner, and probably every single person who lived in the city suddenly appeared, along with every scrap of orange cloth in the entire region.

I had probably never seen so many kissing ladies or smiling old men in one place. The first thing I noticed was how many women tried to snog me. The second thing was the singing: it was as if the entire Dutch nation was singing about liberation in a lilting melody that was joy to the ear.

I knew enough not to take my helmet off: my short hair-long for a soldier but short nevertheless-didn't help me look any more lady-like. And who knew if there was a sniper hiding in a church steeple or some high window, waiting to spot some idiot's bare head and fill it full of accurate lead. No, siree, not for me.

Perhaps it was easy for me to simply pat the Dutch backs and keep pushing through the crowd instead of snogging or eating because there wasn't anyone for me to snog and I knew we had a mission to do. The only reason these people were celebrating was because we were liberating them and if we weren't going about liberating them, then what did they have to celebrate?

Finding Sgt. Lipton in the crowd, I stuck next to him. If there was any order to be found, it was either with him or Winters, but I was too short to see over the pressing bodies and Winters was not visible at the moment so Lipton Express was the way to go. I even helped him pull a dazed-and-happy-looking Perconte from a woman who was crushing his head to her ample bosom. You'd think he'd be unhappy because it was such an uncomfortable angle, but no, he wasn't in the least.

I craned my head around for no more than three seconds, and when I looked back, I had lost Lipton had been lost in the crowd. Trying to keep pressing through, I was doing fine until I heard Perco's voice call my name.

"'Ey, Dani, com'ere!"

I sauntered over, checking out the situation. Hoobler, Heffron, Grant, Guarnere, Perco, Martin, and Ramirez were taking pictures with Dutch kids and women. Perco gestured for me to come over and I shook my head.

"Come _on_, Dani, you're the prettiest face in the company, come on."

Sighing, I, once again the idiot, took off my helmet, holding it against my hip, and took one picture before sneaking back off into the crowd again. Perco seemed happy enough that he had gotten me in to participate in at least one picture so I was able to continue pressing through the jubilant bodies.

I began to pick up a sound that wasn't singing, but chanting and wailing. Confused, I slid through the final barrier of people, and what greeted my astonished eyes rather startled me.

Dutch people, mostly men, were gathered in a crowd, shouting something I couldn't make out at women.

But these weren't just any women: these were women getting their hair shaved so roughly and carelessly, their scalps bled in a few places from a particularly quick cut of the scissors. Their clothes were torn half-off and they were crying in distress as their fellow Dutch comrades drew Nazi symbols on their foreheads.

Spotting Winters watching this same spectacle with Lieu's Welsh and Compton, I jogged over to them. The crowd wasn't so bad here, and I was able to hear Welsh ask:

"What did they do?" To no one in particular.

"They slept with the Germans." A balding man who had just walked up with Nixon replied from behind them. "They are lucky," he added as Winters turned towards him, "the men who collaborated are being shot."

"Mr. van Hooijk here is with the Dutch Resistance." Nix introduced.

"We've been waiting and hoping for this day," Mr. van Hooijk said as he shook Winters' hand, "for almost five years."

"He says he can help us secure the bridges here." Nix told Winters. They began to walk off, beginning to talk of information and reliable reports and army shit like that.

Beginning to get an unsettled feeling in my stomach, I turned and started back into the crowd, trying to find Perco. Suddenly, being in a picture with a few Dutch kids seemed much better than watching the shaving scene while waiting to move out or have something to do other than sing with the Dutch.

The purr of tanks was beginning to get louder and louder. Abruptly, the Dutch began to cheer even louder. The armor had arrived.

Unfortunately, when I was able to spot the tanks and jeep leading them-they were as lax and distracted by the Dutch as we were. Women were riding on the tanks, in the jeep. The man driving the jeep was actually blowing kisses to the Dutch people, as if he was actually the hero he was in the Dutch's eyes.

We were bastards, the lot of us.


	12. 4: Atomic Apples

**A/N: Dood, I have to rush this. I haven't had a chance to write for about... oh, I dunno, 192 hours. It has been a very emotional week, and I know that's no excuse, so I just want to say-I'm sorry for the late update, and I'm going to do better, I promise. Read and Review! (:**

**Chapter 12**** - Atomic Apples**

**Nuenen:**

"Vincent Van Gogh was born in Nuenen!" Webster announced with a huge grin on his face.

"Yeah? So what?" Cobb replied grouchily.

"They sure teach you a lot of useful stuff at Harvard!" Hoobler ribbed.

There was a woman up the road. We were about to pass here. Her hair was shaved, her features pretty, and her arms cradled a baby. It was then I noticed that most of the girls who had their heads shaved and clothes torn-the girls who had slept with the Germans-had all been moderately to very pretty. Maybe some of them had a choice, but the chances were many didn't. I wouldn't put it past the Germans to force a woman, I decided.

Hoobler nudged Bull and pointed to our newest replacement Lieu, who walked out in front of the tanks, raised his binocs, and scanned the relatively quiet town of Nuenen with absolutely no perception of exactly how venerable this made him.

"Hey, get a load of General Patton!"

"What the hell's he doing?" Bull muttered with a _very_ annoyed tone. 

"Makes quite a target, don't he?" Hoobs joked from above me.

"LIEUTENIANT!" Bull called. He turned.

A shot rang out, and Lieu was down.

"HALFTRACK!"

There was a Kraut halftrack rolling along the side of the treeline, and I could practically feel Kraut eyes on me as we all scrambled off the tanks and down the embankment on side of the road.

Boom. Miss. Boom. The halftrack practically exploded into flame. I was more focused on the Lieuteniant writhing on the road and clutching at his throat. I shifted to my feet, raising myself up; not high enough to get my ass shot, but high enough to be able to spring out onto the road whenever I wanted without delay.

I took another look at the bloody Lieuteniant Brewer and my mouth drew into a firm, dissatisfied line. The Lieuteniant was not my priority; I was a Sergeant, for goodness sakes, not a medic. It was his fault for getting injured; he wouldn't have if he hadn't been so idiotic.

"What should we do?" Garcia asked frantically from behind me. Before I could open my mouth and say anything, Hashey replied: 

"Keep down, stay still."

I scrambled out of the ditch furiously, waving my arms at the men.

"GET YOUR ASSES UP! KEEP MOVING!"

Bull joined me, taking a look at the men and echoing my words with a "KEEP MOVING! GET UP! KEEP MOVING!"

Just then, the medic attending to the Lieuteniant was shot in the leg. He rolled in the dirt, groaning and clutching at his wound. I glanced around for Roe, but I didn't see him. Without another thought, I quickly darted over and with the practiced hands of one who had done it many times, I clapped a bandage to the medic's leg, tied it secure, and, grabbing his hand, quickly assisted him back behind the tanks, dashing back to care for the Lieuteniant. Blood was practically pouring from his mouth, sweeping over his hands in a way that bespoke of death.

"Lieuteniant, I'm going to need you to take your hands away from your wound. I have a bandage ready right here, I just need you to let go and let me handle it." I spoke soothingly and quietly, despite the gunshots that were sounding out all around us. He obeyed and I hastily clapped the bandage, tied it, and with the help of a man I didn't see the face of, I dragged the Lieuteniant back into a relatively safer zone behind the tanks. Finishing this task, I dragged my hands across my ODs to clean them and dashed after Bull.

Nuenen, from the looks of it, was a relatively simple village-type town, I reflected as we dashed down the road, past a few houses and fences. It was a place that vaguely reminded me of a place I had lived when I was a kid; a place I would not want a battlefield to be, or a person to be killed, or violence of any sort.

For the past few days, we had battled up and down a stretch of road that had been nicknamed "Hell's Highway" because that was almost exactly what it was. If we made ground, we would soon be stopped. If we were stopped, we might retreat a bit. If we retreated, we would have to make up the ground and then some.

Crouching behind a rather decorative low wall next to Babe Heffron, I took a look at the situa-oh, shit.

There was a Kraut tank hiding right behind a building, disguised by hay and quite silent. I glanced across the street at Bull. He was gesturing to Johnny that our tanks were blind to this Kraut bugger, simply because said Kraut bugger was hiding behind a building. Johnny nodded, took Heffron, and went to have a little chat with the nice Limey who was in charge of the tanks.

Johnny and Babe rejoined us, unharmed, and the tanks resumed rolling forward. From the look on Johnny's face, the Limey tank chap was a bugger as well.

A tank exploded. The Kraut rolled forward. If tanks could smile gleefully, this one would have and then some. Bull yelled to fall back, but I was already running away from the scene as fast as my long legs could carry me.

Out of nowhere, Krauts started appearing and firing their guns. It was horrible, to say the least. Running while firing off a few rounds at a bunch of smooth and curved helmets that had just appeared out of a house is harder than it sounds, so I dived into a ditch before I got hit by the bullets that had just recently started pounding the ground near me.

A few walls exploded, nearly pelting me with debris. Abruptly deciding I was still in danger, I fired off a few more shots and practically fish-tailed out of the embankment, resuming in the original scheme of running for my life while squeezing off rounds. I could distinctly hear a machine gun going somewhere, but I decided it wasn't quite worth worrying about quite yet since it wasn't too fatally close. The booms, however, seemed to be following me rather closely.

Above the clamor, I heard Luz's voice in front of me and I skedaddled behind the wall of a red brick house, knocking into Guarnere, who was yelling "FALL BACK!" while pushing men away from the wall.

"LUZ, FALL BACK." Bill repeated, roughly tugging on Luz's uniform to try and get him to move. Luz barely spared him a glance, still yelling into his radio. "LUZ, FALL BACK!"

I grabbed Luz's OD at the neck and bodily pulled him away from the wall. Finally, he gave up on the radio and started running for his life. Just in time, too, as I heard a glass window shattering in a massive and too-close-for-any-sort-of-comfort boom, and I realized as I tumbled to the ground in half-surprise half-because-I-stubbed-my-toe-on-the-ground-in-panic that the wall he had been leaning up against had just been blown. I didn't stop to find out which part of the house was still intact. I found myself dragged up and pulled along at a very fast pace until I could securely run again.

It was only when we reached the tanks that I realized the man who had just practically plowed my face into the ground was none other than George Luz.

Hurriedly climbing into the trucks waiting behind the tanks, we sat down heavily and tried not to think about what had just happened. It wasn't until then that I realized I had a patch blood blossoming around a hole in the leg of my trouser. Cautiously, I pulled up my pant leg to see what was causing the blood and saw that a tiny piece of shrapnel had found its way into my leg.

The "battle" of Nuenen had lasted less than 20 minutes, yet it felt like hours. We had 4 dead, 11 injured, and it appeared that nobody knew where Bull was.

I had spent most of the rest of the day looking after the wounded men, making sure they were as comfortable as they could be. When I finally sank down onto the ground, pulling my legs into a indian crouch, Hoobler came over and handed me a piece of bread.

"Thanks, Hoobs."

"What's up?"

"Lieuteniant Brewer's gonna make it."

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah. He's gonna be sent back to England."

Not ten minutes later, Guarnere walked up to me with a rather nonplussed look on his face.

"'Ey, Gonorrhea. What's up?" 

"They've gone looking for Bull."

"No shit. Who?" 

"Uh, Hoobs, Webster, and what's-his-name Garcia."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner? I woulda gone."

"Yeh, me too, but I didn't have ammo."

He then proceeded to tell me a rather humorous story about how the Dutch people had given him so many apples (the one thing they had aplenty) and he had thrown them all at the Krauts, thinking the apples were grenades. Of course, he was slightly pissed about it, since he had only just now discovered he had no apples left to eat. I started laughing.

"What, did you expect the Krauts to eat them and die of atomic apples, Bill?"


	13. 5: Home Sweet Home

**A/N: I'd like to give a quick shout-out to everyone who reviewed or favorited this week; **_**FailedWriter**_**, **_**DancingQueen21**_**, **_**CP2Girls**_**, **_**Azrael's Darkest Secrets**_**, and **_**ber1719**_**, you guys made this week all pretty much worth it and just because of the amazing response on the last one, I may just update TWICE this week, but we'll see how things turn out.**

**This is also a chapter dedicated to**_** AivieEnchanted**_**. What you wanted, but probably not how you expected! Haha.**

**This is mainly just a filler; Read and Review! (:**

**Chapter 13**** - Home Sweet Home**

Nobody likes retreating or accepting defeat, but yet that was exactly what we were forced to do, it seemed. We were moving out to somewhere else instead.

The trucks rumbled and shook along the bumpy road. My leg had begun to hurt and a certain Sergeant kept looking out of the truck and saying that we should be stopping for a stop-and-piss soon. After a few repeats of this, I replied in my best whiny voice: "My ass hurts, Daddy. Are we there yet?" There were a few smiles and eye-rolls.

Finally, I could feel the truck starting to slow down a bit. I needed to piss. Badly. The men all shot to their feet as soon as the vehicle had completely stopped and we all jumbled out of the back. Landing with a thud, a stab of pain shot up my leg. I bent over slightly, trying to rest from the jarring of jumping down off the back of the wagon the army thought was proper transportation.

A boot abruptly connected with the back of my leg. I stopped myself from crying out as I almost fell to the ground. It wasn't the pain - goodness knows I had felt worse pain than that - it was more the surprise.

"Dani? Are you okay?" 

"Yeah, George, I just-agh, fucking replacements."

He took my arm and supported me so I didn't have to stand on the leg.

"Well, you getting wounded is certainly nothing new."

"Shut up."

I glanced up from where I was bent over looking at my leg, and to my surprise, he was staring at me as if trying to gauge whether or not I was actually okay, and his eyes were soft and concerned. Awh, that was so -

Wait. I knew those eyes... where had I seen those ey-

"Holy shit." I said, jerking my head back down.

"What?" His hold on my hand tightening... protectively?

I couldn't tell him. There wasn't any doubt anymore that the soft brown eyes were him. Hell, there wasn't even any doubt that it hadn't even _been_ a dream.

"I hate replacements." I blurted, put on the spot. I pulled away from him and put my foot back on the ground so I could walk away.

"Dani, don't walk on i-"

"Luz, I'll be fine. Geezus." I snapped. "I just need a piss."

I didn't mean to be harsh. I didn't mean to snap. But I needed to get away. The concern in his eyes was just too much. I mean, what if, by some horrible chance, he fell in love with me - God forbid - and I fell in love with him?

In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I realized - this couldn't happen. Not in the middle of a war. What if one of us got wounded seriously? What if the other couldn't function properly after that? Or worse, even worse, what if one of us _died_?

This couldn't happen. Not in the middle of a war.

So I closed my eyes, attempted to ignore the pain, walked away with barely a limp, and didn't look back. If I had looked back, I knew I would probably see George Luz staring after me with a confused expression on his features.

But I _didn't _look back.

We eventually arrived at our destination; a place we called "The Island", for lack of a better name. An on this island, there were people called Krauts. Now, these Krauts had guns, and the guns had been made to kill the Yanks.

In other words, home sweet home.

But none of this was even the beginning of it all; I found myself once again called to Colonel Sink's office, right before we left for the field again.


	14. 5: We're Okay

**A/N: Shout-outs to the most amazing of all peopleses: Tears and Rage, ber1719, FailedWriter, AivieEnchanted, Azrael's Darkest Secrets, CP2girls, Horsesareamazing - THANK YOU! :) Keep reviewing like that, and I'll be inspired to write too much and update twice a week all the time!**

**Here's a chapter that's a bit longer, to make up for the shorter one before. Read and Review! :)**

**Chapter 14 ****- We're Okay**

Now, when you get called (summoned, really) to Colonel Sink's office, you're the only girl in the company, hell, the regiment, you start to get anxious about it all. You had masqueraded as a man; face it, a _man_. You had actually fooled everyone... and then you were found out. You had then proceeded to have an... interesting... conversation with _Colonel_ Sink, he hadn't kicked you out, you had to go to Normandy, you get promoted, go to Holland, get some shit stuck in your leg, and baddabang, baddaboom, you're standing in Colonel Sink's office. Now tell me you wouldn't be nervous.

"Sit down." I obeyed meekly. "How do you feel in the field, Sergeant?" 

"I don't understand the question, sir." Can I go piss really quick? I forgot to.

"You spend alot of time at the aid station, correct?" 

"Yessir," I was waiting for him to tell me I was discharged or some such. What the hell was going on? 

"Why?" 

"Well, sir, in Normandy, Doc Roe looked like his hands were a little full, so I helped out and, well, from there, if there was a man around me who was in need of some medical attention that didn't seem to be forthcoming, I would try to help." Still nervous. Still need to piss. Still not confident about how this is going to end. Still not a good situation.

"Do you have a background in medicine, Sergeant?" 

"Yessir, my mother was a nurse and my grandfather was actually a surgeon. He taught me the trade when I went to live with him for a few years."

He nodded again, almost absent-mindedly. I had the sudden itchingly creepy feeling that he had already either known all this and it hadn't really mattered or he hadn't known all this but it wouldn't influence his decision anyway.

"It's been decided we're making you an official medic, Sergeant."

I coughed in disbelief, but refrained from saying 'beg pardon' or 'sir?' because I had another one of those creepy feelings that 1. This wasn't going to change, 2. This wasn't a dream and 3. He would say the exact same thing I thought he had before if I said I hadn't heard him correctly.

"You'll keep your rank, Sergeant. Medic Roe should find you a medic's armband and bag. Dismissed."

I saluted stiffly, turning on my heel and marching out quickly before I turned back and asked him a confused question. I was a soldier. I had been trained as a soldier, not a medic. Sure, I had the medical knowledge, but why the _hell_ would they make me a medic?

I accidentally bumped into a shoulder on my way out. I was almost too upset to turn and apologize, but if it was someone of a rank higher than mine, I could get court-martialed... if such things still mattered here, on The Island.

"I'm sorr-oh, hey, Perco."

"Dani. What's wrong?"

He knew me way frigging too well. 

"Sink just made me a medic."

"What the-"

"I don't know." I shrugged again, helplessly. "I don't know. I'm off to find Doc Roe. Maybe he'll have some reasons. I'm supposed to get my medic things from him anyway."

Was I that useless of a soldier?

"Hey, Doc." I said, not finding the heart to plaster a smile on my face. Doc was one of those irritatingly perceptive types who could just see right through your mask and tell you what was what in a soft Louisiana drawl, so what was the point in pretending that I was going to enjoy official medic-dom? I hadn't minded tending to the men when it wasn't my job and I could do something else if I wanted to, but doing it all the time as something I was actually _told_ to do?

"Shoemaker." He greeted me, not surprised at all.

"So you knew and didn't tell me?" It wasn't an accusation; it was simply a drooping acknowledgement.

"Not until today."

"So, where's my stuff?" 

"Right here." He handed me an armband with a medic's red cross emblazoned on it, and a medic's bag.

"Doc, do you know _why_ I'm being made a medic?" I asked, pulling the armband through my fingers, feeling the material run across my skin in a monotonous and unchanging theme.

He shook his head. I think he was more at a loss of what he _could_ say than anything else.

"Dani-" A voice practically assaulted my ear.

I jumped away quickly.

"Geezus, Perco, do you have some personal space issues or something?" 

"Sink only made you a medic because there wasn't anyone else."

"Really."

"Yeah. He was talking about the shortage of medics. And then Baden was shot at Nuenen-"

"Right. Now I'm not a lousy soldier, I'm just too good of a medic without being a medic."

"Luz is looking for you. Something about craps."

I coughed, this time awkwardly.

"Right. Thanks, Perco. Now get your lazy ass back to your job."

"I thought since you were a medic now, you couldn't-"

"I kept my rank, you insolent toad. Now, _go_!" I teased.

"Fine. Geezus."

"My name ain't Geezus." I reminded him as he walked away, back out of the small building that made up the "hospital".

I was put to work once again, but this time it was official; I was a medic, I just hadn't found the time to sew the armband on my sleeve quite yet. Each morning, I dragged myself out of the barracks, to the hospital, and did my duties. By the time I reached my bed again, I was too tired to sit up for even five minutes and sew an armband on a sleeve with stitches like a five-year-old, let alone do a good job.

The honest truth was, I worked my ass off so I wouldn't miss Luz nearly as much. Of course, it didn't work. It seemed like every day that passed, I missed him more. It was making me feel like a dramatic teenaged girl again - unstable, emotional, hormonal, imbalanced.

That all changed.

It all changed when we moved out again, that is.

We were put in a barn that was conveniently located right near a crossroads, only a few miles away from the regimental HQ.

It was all quiet. Too quiet for my taste. We knew the Germans were out there somewhere; they were still determined to reclaim The Island and cast the Yanks off and out permanently.

Not happening, not on our watch.

And since Luz was there, well, of course I had to act normal, like nothing was wrong. I liked to know he was okay, but I didn't like that I had to avoid him while pretending I wasn't. It wasn't easy and I felt horrible for it. No matter how much I convinced myself that it was better for the both of us if I just stayed away, I felt like I was doing the wrong thing anyway. He was my best friend, so how could I possibly live without him? Especially when he was trying to make me laugh every five minutes?

As much as it hurt me, I had to try and cut the ties now, before it was too late. I didn't even realize.

And then there was the pretending; I would play cards with him. I would talk to him. But I was subdued. I didn't crow triumphantly when I won, I didn't laugh alot, and never loudly, I didn't make obnoxious jokes.

In other words, I wasn't Dani.

We were sitting there in a barn, waiting for something to happen. Talbert was playing with his dog. Dukeman was cheerfully making the replacements sleep in the loft while he played Solitaire with Luz's deck. I had finally found the time to take care of the medic armband and was sewing my little heart out to get the armband on my jacket. Luz was beside me, giving Tab's dog a treat as he waited for something to come through on the radio. Tab was telling Winters about the inability and inexperience of the replacements.

"I swear, one of them has never shaved." I added into that conversation, glancing up from my sewing.

"Yeah," Winters replied. "Kids."

"This is a hell of a dog, Tab." Luz interjected in an impressed voice.

"Thank you. There ya go!" He threw a stick halfway across the barn for the adorable dog to retrieve.

"What'd you call it, Tab?" Winters asked.

"Trigger."

"That's good." Luz said, nodding approvingly and chewing at the same time.

"I like that." I mused, copying Luz's gesture with a that's-pretty-good face.

"Trigger." Luz repeated.

"Got anything on this?" Tab lazily pointed to the radio.

Luz made a 'no' sound.

"It's all quiet."

As if a response to this statement, as soon as he finished the sentence, the door banged open loudly and the noise that followed, well, was just as loud. I rose to my feet, knocking my chair backwards and dropping the deck on the floor.

"We got penetration!" 

"Alley's hurt, we need the-"

"Alright, get him on the table-"

"Who-"

"It's Alley-"

"Alley-"

"He's hit-"

I grabbed the supplies and rushed over to the table where they were laying Alley down.

"Alright, I got this. Alley, you're gonna be okay. Boyle, get Doc Roe." I said quickly, taking a look at the wounds. It appeared that he had been hit with a grenade: multiple wounds wounds on his chest, most of them not too major. A bit of shrapnel seemed to have landed in his neck, chin, and cheek, and from a single glance, his left leg had gotten the grenade too.

Noticing that Liebgott had some blood dripping down his neck as well, I quickly handed him a bandage and concentrated back on Alley.

"Where am I? Something happened, what happened?" He asked.

"It's okay." Lipton told him. "It's going to be okay."

"Where was it?" Winters asked.

"Crossroads." Lieb answered. "Where the road crosses the dike."

"If it wasn't for your loud mouth, they'd never know-"

"Ay, you know what, Joe, back off." Lieb replied.

"-Send for Lieuteniant Welsh. Lipton, assemble me a squad."

"Yessir. First squad, on your feet! Weapons and ammo only-"

First squad. That was me!

"Shit." I whispered as I wavered between attending to Alley and rushing around to prepare for the patrol. Which one was I supposed to do?

"Give me room!" Doc Roe said as he hurried in. I quickly moved over to let him in. " Bull, get the boots off and elevate the leg."

I started to turn away to follow the men starting to hurry out the door, but Lipton stopped me.

"Not you, Dani. Help Doc Roe and then help out 1st Platoon. Alright, men, let's move!" He ran out the door, clapping his helmet on.

Luz nodded once to me as he passed me. I hurried back over to the table, taking the sulphur from Liebgott's inpracticed hands and quickly sprinkling it over the worse of Alley's wounds.

Shit. George could die, _today_, or tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. What did it matter that it would hurt to lose him? I was losing him by distancing myself so it would hurt less.

The dawn slowly crept closer. 1st Platoon's balance was called on as a kind of reinforcement. I was personally happy to go, eager to see the men, but dreading it, in a way; I'd heard someone was killed. I didn't want to find out who it was, yet I needed to know urgently.

I was a confused woman on a battlefield. Either my mind was unhinging and I was losing it or my mind was unhinging and I was going through a phase of hormones that I had never been told about because everyone else who had been my age in their life was just too ashamed to admit that they were having trouble.

Either way, my mind was unhinging. There was absolutely no doubt about it.

The enemy was behind a solid road embankment, and we found 2nd Platoon in a ditch. They could flank us along the dike once they figured that out. There was a ferry crossing fairly close by; there was only one thing we could do.

In front of me, I could see a long line of men crouching down into themselves in the ditch, trying not to make a target of themselves and hoping Winters knew what he was doing or had something up his sleeve. It didn't comfort me that the only faces I could see were that of replacements. Nervous replacements, what's more, especially when they fixed their bayonets.

All I knew was that we were supposed to fix our bayonets and run across a field when red smoke was in the air. The field led to a ridge, and behind that ridge, there were Krauts that we were supposed to shoot at. Except for me. I was to stay in the ditch, and come if I saw that there was a wounded man, since I didn't have a gun. Sounds simple, right?

Not when Winters throws the frigging can, and it fizzes. It was the only explanation for the lack of red smoke as Winters charged down the field alone. Someone down the line wanted to go, and some dumbass stopped him. (I later found out the dumbass was Lieu Peacock.) When we finally saw the faintest whisp of red smoke, they were immediately up and running.

I needed to be up there, protecting the men. _But I can't even protect myself, since I don't have a gun because medics aren't supposed to have guns, and... _I let the thought trail off, scowling fiercely. _This is a problem._

I could hear gun shots. I figured that was Winters, engaging the first few. More gunshots, more, more, more, explosion, explosion, explosion, explosion, explosion, holy shit, that was getting closer, explosion, explosion, and silence. I sagged with reli-I spoke too soon. There were more explosions, and this time, I had a feeling I needed cover, but I didn't have any, so I had to huddle down and hope nothing hit - wait. I was a medic. There were probably wounded men up there; American wounded men that needed my help. Gritting my teeth, I scrambled out of the ditch and ran _towards_ the explosions.

_Dani Shoemaker, you are an idiot. Are you actually __**trying**__ to die?_

I didn't have time to answer my brain's (the smart part of me) question, because there I was, climbing over the ridge and the explosions conveniently crawled to an end right when I came in range.

I went from man to man, checking up and bandaging wounds that needed bandaging. Finally, I found The Webster. (We - or rather, I - had nicknamed him this because he always had his nose buried in a book.)

"Ay, it's The Webster! Where? Your leg?"

"Yeah."

Rolling up his pant leg to where the wound was, I took a look, sprinkled a bit of sulphur, and tied a bandage around it securely.

"'They got me.'" Webster mocked dryly. "Can you believe that? Can you believe I said that?" 

"What a day for cliches, huh?" I replied, hauling him to his feet with the assistance of Skinny Sisk. "Can you make it back to CP?"

"Yeah." Skinny handed Webster his helmet. "I will see _you_, pretty Dani, someplace else."

Yeah. Sure.

I seemed to have finally run out of Americans to bandage. I was sitting over by the ridge, head in hands.

"Geezus, Captain!" I heard from in front of me. I looked up. "They're SS!" Lieu Peacock had a Kraut's collar in hand, hoisting him up off the ground to take a look at his uniform up close. Of course, he had to look like a short-sighted idiot who - wait. That face...

With a choked gasp, I stood up and rushed over, tumbling to a halt on my knees at the body Peacock had just dropped and walked away from.

That face! My world dissolved. I felt it sliding from underneath me, yet everything was perfectly still. I was only conscious of the feeling that my heart had just been ripped open in my now-heaving chest. Strangely, I didn't have any tears. I had never been one for crying. My world was perfectly calm, yet it seemed that I was dying on the inside.

"Geoff." I whispered, desolate, desperately feeling for a pulse, for a heartbeat, for a gasp of breath, anything.

But no. His mouth was closed, not showing his adoring smile. His cheeks had thinned a bit since I had seen him last, but so had mine. His eyes were wide and staring, dead, but yet alive; full of pain, full of confusion. 

His uniform, that of a Kraut.

Not my Geoff. It wasn't supposed to be him! He was too young to be here, to see the horrors of war, to feel the blood on his hands that came from killing a man. By all rights, he shouldn't even have to worry about shaving yet. This wasn't his burden to bear.

He wouldn't want me to be sad, I knew. And he was in a better place than this. At least he didn't have to see his fellow **Kameraden** lying dead or wounded, strewn about in a field like a pile of building blocks a child had gotten bored with and scattered.

With gentle hands, I began to search his pockets for anything, anything at all I could take away. I found his pocketknife, his I.D., a picture of him and me, another picture of his parents and brothers, an unopened pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and some brass knuckles. The lighter was one of the best makes I had ever seen and it broke my heart to think where in hell he could have _gotten_ it. I didn't want to have to think of him as going into combat and - oh, God please, no... killing someone.

I took the picture of him and me, the lighter, and the brass knuckles, tucked them away, kissed his cheek one last time, got up, and left quietly, noticing that Winters had seen all of this. I didn't care. All I cared about was whether or not George was alive. I didn't think I could find another dear face dead on a battlefield and not lose it completely and utterly.

"Dani," I heard his call from behind me. I spun around, needing only one look at him before I dug my heels into the ground and broke into a sprint to practically tackle him to the ground. All I needed was his arms around me. That was all.

He didn't say anything, he just returned the embrace.

"You're okay." I whispered, more to myself than to him.

"You're okay." He echoed.

"We're okay."


	15. 5: Winged Horses Fly Away

**A/N: I didn't want to mention that Winters killed Geoff - yes, THAT's Geoff - because as any BoB hardcore fan knows, that's not how it **_**actually**_** happened.**

**But on a less serious note: to all my wonderful, wonderful readers, reviewers, chaps, chappettes, subscribers, favoriters, etc. etc.: **_**Tears and Rage, FailedWriter, Lift the Wings, Emmy Gibbs, AivieEnchanted, Azrael's Darkest Secrets, xXxRainbowxXxStarxXx, CP2girls, ber1917, kburke101, **_**and **_**THERExistsAstar**_**, I love you :) haha. Read and Review!**

**Chapter 15**** - Winged Horses Eventually Fly**

**October 18, 1944:**

He stared at me in disbelief.

"Dani, do you have a death wish?" 

"You know, I was thinking that exact same thing-" 

"You _up and ran_ in the _middle_ of Kraut artillery?"

"Well..."

"Dumbass."

"Hey, hey, now you sound like Malarkey!" I protested.

"Yeah, well, _your brains _are malarkey!" 

"Awh, that's so sweet, George." I retorted sarcastically as I opened a packet of food. "Get used to me almost dying, alright? Geezus. I'm a medic now and-"

"And a dumbass one, too."

"Georrrrge-"

"You get your ear half blown off, you somehow manage to get a bit of brick in your leg, and then you stand up in the middle of Kraut artillery, and just fucking run out into the middle of it so you can find someone who did the same thing and bandage him up real good."

I shifted on the steps we were sitting on. Now, technically speaking, half my ear wasn't blown off... just most of half of it.

"But-"

"You really do have a death wish."

"Why do you keep interrupting me?" I asked.

"Why do you keep doing dumb shit?" He retorted. 

"Why do you keep insulting my dumbassness?" I pouted. 

"Why shouldn't I?" He smirked. 

"Maybe because it's insulting?" I raised an eyebrow. 

"Maybe you should stop being a dumbass then." He replied nonchalantly.

"Like that's going to happen." I scoffed.

"True." He lit a cigarette and smoked it. There was a comfortable silence as I ate and he smoked.

"'Ey, Dani, what's the say on Bill?" Babe asked me.

"Dear ol' Gonorrhea? He was sent back to England yesterday."

"What happened to him?" George asked in confusion.

There was so much going on recently that there wasn't much gossip amongst the men, apparently, so now it was my job to pass along the word.

"He was driving back and forth between his men on a motorcycle he'd snitched from a Dutch farmer." I replied. "Damn accurate German sniper got him in the right leg, threw him off the motorcycle. Fractured his right tibia and lodged some shrapnel in his ass."

"Dani." George said in a monotone.

"And of course you don't know what a tibia is."

"Am I supposed to? Geezus."

"It's a shinbone. Geezus." I grinned, reveling in the feeling of knowing something Mr. Fuzzy Luzzy didn't and wouldn't if I didn't tell him. "It's the stronger of the two bones in your shin."

Babe was just watching this with a bemused-but-amused smile. Have you ever noticed those two words sound similar? I finished chewing on the last bite and began contemplating what had happened.

Captain Winters had been promoted to regimental and was no longer running Easy. Lieu Moose Heyliger was stepping up to the plate to fill in Winters' shoes and there was a new op being planned; Operation Pegasus.

Since Moose was a friend of mine, I heard a few snatches of it, but nothing more than the other men knew. There were a couple Lime chaps trapped in Kraut land when the Battle of Arnhem backfired because there were more Krauts than Intelligence had thought (and we of Easy Company had absolutely _no_ idea what _that_ was like). Easy's job was to go get them.

"Dani." George's voice broke into my thoughts.

"George." I replied, resting my chin in my hand.

"When do you think we're going to go on this thing?"

They must have been talking about the same thing I had been thinking about. Maybe that was why I had started thinking about it. I didn't want to think about how them saying something could make me start thinking about it.

"You mean Pegasus?"

"Yeah."

"You never know, George. But why name it Pegasus? I mean, Pegasus is a Greek horse-god sired by Poseidon and foaled by Medusa." They were both looking at me strangely. "What?" I asked defensively.

**October 22, 1944:**

It was the big day. We had just gotten the word that once night fell, we would be leaving off in little paddleboats to rescue the British chaps.

I was all ready; my bag had the supplies, my jacket (finally) had the armband sewed completely on it, and my trousers were bloused. For the first time ever, I was going into an operation completely prepared and-

"Not you, Dani."

"Stop fucking with me, Malark." I replied, rolling my eyes. "Nice one, but no." Then I saw his face. It bore an expression of noble heroism - a look that people who had never seen battle thought that soldiers died with that look on their faces. My mouth tightened.

Malark knew exactly what I was capable of. I was a very dangerous female when angry. He probably wasn't expecting to make it out of the room alive.

"You had better be fucking with me," I sighed. I knew he wasn't.

"Sorry, Dani."

"Why?" 

"Because you don't get to go."

"No, Malark, you dumbass. I mean why am I being left behind?" 

"Oh." He didn't want to insult me; he was already in a precarious position just telling me the news. "Because they wanted a medic to stay behind in case some Krauts decide to attack regimentals like they did when..."

_When Geoff died, _my brain filled in the blank but I knew that wasn't what he was referring to. He probably didn't even know about it.

What had happened at the crossroads had been described as a turkey shoot, where you just sat and fired at turkeys who were dumb enough to cross in front of the gunfire.

Finally, I nodded in understanding and Malark visibly relaxed.

"Alright, Malark. Don't get killed, you dumbass."

He smiled.

"I could say the same to you... dumbass."

I began to act like this infuriated me and he scurried out of the room. I chuckled weakly before I sank into a chair and rested my head in my hands.

This was not fair. I needed to be there; there with my men, bandaging up any wounds they had. They were _my_ men, my brothers, my family. They were my only home here. What did I have, if I did not have them?

And what could I do, if I could not protect them?


	16. 5: Staying Alive

**A/N: Some of you have been asking for a tiiiiny bit of fluff. I decided to indulge myself - JUST FOR ONE CHAPTER - because, well, as my birthday present to myself. Hehe.**

**Oh. Did you know Matthew Leitch (Talbert) was in the Dark Knight? And Craig Heaney (Cobb)? I didn't. Heehee. I love the Joker, though. Jus' sayinn'. I pointed at dear ol' Tab and said "Talbert!" every time I saw him. Annoyed the crap out of my brother. Fun stuff. Anyways!**

**My precious, darling shout-outs: **

_**PurpleDolphinPlush, **_**(thank you!)**

_**ber1719**_** (I hope this will sate that cuteness request haha), **

_**Clandestroe Nerd**_**, (thank you!)**

_**FailedWriter**_** (I love the word fuzzy, so it's all good!),**

_**AivieEnchanted**_** (I know right? You'd think they would go with something awesome, like... something other than Pegasus lol!)**

_**CP2girls**_** (And here we... go! *gestures like the Joker*)**

**Read and Review! (:**

**Chapter 16**** - Staying Alive**

I didn't want to see them preparing to leave, but yet I needed to. We all knew how well it could go over - or how well it could _not_ go.

That was the problem. How well it could not go would decide how well it _would_ go.

I heard the door open and close but I didn't look up from where I was still sitting down, head in hands. I heard him sit down next to me, felt an arm across my shoulder, leaned into his soothing warmth. I didn't have to even look at him to know who it was and why he was here.

"Stay alive," I whispered. "Or I will beat your sorry ass to hell."

"Scary to the very end." He retorted, but his arm shifted comfortingly. A few minutes passed in silence. "I have to go. It's almost time." He stood to leave.

"George?" 

"Yeah?" 

I didn't have any words; they had all left, escaped, abandoned me. I had things I wanted to express, but nothing to say.

He simply nodded once in understanding, and then he was gone. I huffed a sigh and settled down to do the one thing I hated: wait.

I had never been too patient of a kid, I reflected to try and keep my mind off of what _could_ be happening. I had never been one to sit still and quietly and simply wait for something to come along.

The minutes were hours long. I grew so hopelessly aggravated with the clock, I finally grabbed my jacket and hurried out the door. The streets were emptier than I'd ever seen them. My feet found their way to the aid station, simply because there, I didn't have a clock to look at.

**Countless time later:**

I rubbed my eyes. Washing and mending clothes were not my strong suits, as demonstrated by the accident I had finally just recovered from, but someone had to do it sometime... the washing and mending, I mean. Time seemed to have turned to the wee hours of the morning and every minute that passed by, I grew more and more anxious but I tried to push that anxiety to the back of my mind. I knew, inside of me, that it could take them hours more to evacuate the Brits. But I also knew that in the time I had waited, something could have gone horribly-

"Dani?"

My heart jumped into my throat and I half-rose to my feet.

"George?"

I heard footsteps in the hall, and then he smiled down at me from the doorway.

"Come on. We're getting a drink with the Limes."

"You're so insensitive." I scolded him as I grabbed my jacket and followed him out the door.

"And how do you figure that, Dani?" 

"I wait here for hours, worried sick, and then you just pop into the doorway, saying, 'oh, Dani, we're getting a drink, care to join?'" I lowered my voice slightly in an attempt to sound more like him. We were nearing the place the men of Easy had rennovated and improvised into a pub of sorts.

"First of all, I don't sound like that. Secondly, we're back. And thirdly, my dearest Dani, it sounds to me as if you were concerned for someone."

"No." I said too quickly, heart thumping at the endearment he had tacked onto my name. "You're a dumbass if you think that." I sped up my footsteps and practically jogged to get away from him.

Not now, George, not now. I wasn't in a very safe and secure place in my mind right then. I had just waited up _hours_ to make sure he was... no, I waited up hours to make sure they were ALL safe, I quickly corrected myself.

"Oooh, that hurts the pride, Dani." He playfully muttered at my back and despite myself, I couldn't stop a little smile as I opened the door of the 'pub' and sauntered in.

"-And the American 101st have done the Red Devils a great service." A man in a Brit uniform and red cap was saying. At this statement, a murmur of agreement swept through the packed room. "Making it possible for us to return and fight the enemy on another day." Cheers.

"Moooose." I mooed like a cow. He just took a swig from the bottle in his hand and smiled.

"To Easy Company; victory and Currahee!"

"CURRAHEEEEEEE!" American fists pounded the air vigorously, triumphantly.

The air was thick with smoke, body heat, and the smell of beer. As good as it was to be there with the men, after a few minutes, I needed a breath of fresh air. Stepping outside, I sighed in contentment. The men were safe and they were with me again. I couldn't ask for more. I shivered, rubbing my hands along the length of my arms. The nights were getting slightly cooler. On the plus side, I had finally figured out why Operation Pegasus was named Operation Pegasus; a unit of the British Airborne had an insignia of a flying horse, probably named Pegasus.

"Dani?"

I turned slightly, smiling.

"'Ey, George."

"Okay?" 

"Yeah. Just getting a breath of air."

"It went over very smoothly."

"Yeah? That's good."

"Something's wrong."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Bullshit."

"George. You calling me a liar?" 

"If the shoe fits."

"Good thing you're not my cobbler."

"What's wrong?"

"You're making assumptions."

"You aren't drinking every man under the table."

"You have right to make assumptions." I admitted. That _was_ very... irregular behavior. "I'm just relieved now that you're back, you know?"

It gets to the point where you don't really _feel_ like drinking the men under the table.

He nodded.

"You have to admit, Dani: you were concerned."

"I need admit no such thing." I sniffed, wary of where this conversation might be going.

It seemed that the more time I spent away him, the more terrified I became that I would lose him. It also seemed that the more time I spent with him, the more terrified I became that he would read me like a magazine and know how I was starting to feel about him.

"Dani, have you been crying?" 

Startled, I glanced at him hurriedly. I would have if I'd had the tears, I almost admitted to his face.

"No." I replied.

"Your eyes are red."

I felt his touch on my cheek and I unconciously turned into it, his eyes making me lose my breath. The moonlight was playing tricks, shining into his eyes and turning them into that softness I had only seen twice. He was so close to me, but yet so far. Unattainable, unreachable, unhaveable, if that's even a word.

"George," My words felt like they were being strangled. "That's because I rubbed my eyes while I was washing clothes and got soap in them."

He looked at me for a moment, his hand still gentle against my skin. And then he smiled widely.

"You're such a dumbass."

Way to ruin the moment, George.


	17. 5: An English Penny

**Quick, quick shout-outs to my (as always) beloved reviewers, favoriters, alerters (is that even a word?), etc. etc. (I can't tell you how much I love you guys. Every review is like a love letter that lights up my world - even if it's, like, three letters long. But yes. I love you guys. 3)**

_**Tears and Rage**_** - my opinion exactly! Haha.**

_**Lift the Wings **_**- I'M SORRY! Dx I think I've been a little temptress and given us both too much of a taste of fluff. Don't worry, it's coming though!**

_**cHoCoLaTe-RuM**_** - :D Tell me what you think of this one!**

_**AivieEnchanted**_** - I need more too. *sigh* Dumb George. You had to ruin it. Lawlz.**

_**CP2girls - **_**No problem! (: I hope you like this one, heehee.**

_**ber1719**_** - Omg. THAT MADE MY WEEK. THANK YOU! Lol. But I hope you like this chapter, and that it's 1000000000000 times better than the last (I confess, I copied and pasted that because there were too many zeros for me to count).**

_**Asphyxiating Elgar**_** - Thank you! (:**

**Hab SpaB! **_(Enjoy!) _**Read and Review!**

**Chapter 17**** - An English Penny**

_But since I'm still alive,_

_I can only assume they haven't killed me yet._

**Dani's Schedule:**

**Monday:**

Drilling. You know. The usual.

**Tuesday:**

"But Mommy, I wanna go back to bed."

**Wednesday:**

"You son of a bitch, do you want to get kicked in the balls? No? Then don't wake me up."

**Thursday:**

Not a good day. For anyone. In Dani's eyesight.

You have been warned.

**Friday:**

Dani kill you.

**Saturday:**

"Where's Shoemaker?"

"Sir, she wasn't in her bed this morning. She has disappeared!"

**Sunday:**

"You lucky bitch, you are in trouble."

"Why?"

"Because you skipped parole. Dumbass."

"It's not my fault. The man wouldn't let me sleep. _Achoo_."

"Dani. Why are you sneezing?"

"I slept outside."

"Dumbass."

"Shut up, Malarkey."

**Monday:**

And repeat.

**WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW**

**Enter Date Here;**

"Why not just-"

"Hey, Dani."

"Hey, Perco, Malark."

"What's up?" Malark sat next to me, Perco next to him. George was (of course) smoking a cigarette on my other side and beside him was Talbert. 

"The new CO."

Malark snorted, as if already guessing my thoughts on the matter. I ignored the correctness of that silent statement and continued what I had been saying.

"Why not just call him Foxhole Norman and be done with it?" Their expressions flashed to ones of agreement. We had only known him for a few weeks, and yet we were already hoping he would get transferred.

Replacements had once again started pouring in, and this time, they were even worse. Weak-chinned, weak-mouthed, weak-tempered, everything. I had learned my lesson; I tried to stay as far away as possible (which was very far away).

Since our dearest Moose Heyliger had been shot (by a replacement) and evacuated, (the inexperienced) Lieuteniant Dike was transferred to (or, as I call it, dumped on) Easy Company. It (really) offended me. We weren't (fucking) babysitters. What (the fuck) were we supposed to do?

**December 10, 1944:**

_Every now and again, there are days in time that you just wish you could go back to and, in the end, they're left behind forever. You envy the innocence you held in the palm of your hands on that day that stands out in the back of your mind, perhaps forever. These days are frozen in time, held captive in the farthest reaches of our memory. Please, indulge me for just a few moments, as I attempt to recreate this as it really was. But please note; any exaggerations are truthful._

My feet found themselves crossing the street, looking down at the piece of paper in my hands, wondering what in-

"Dani?"

"OHOLYSHIT!" I yelled, launching myself at the limping (but smiling) form. "YOU SON OF A BITCH, YOU'RE BACK!" He couldn't really say anything, since I _might_ have almost tackled him to the ground... "Son of a-"

"You already mentioned that part, Dani."

"Oh. I did? I did. Right. So, what brings you here?" 

"Well, couldn't let you sobs have all the fun."

"England, right?" He nodded. "AWOL?"

"Yeh. Where you off to?" 

"Uh, Winters wanted to see me. He's behind a desk now."

"I'm actually headed there now."

"I suppose we could walk together. I mean, if you don't get too _annoying_..."

Wild Bill Guarnere snorted.

"Look who's talking." He chortled. I slung my arm around his shoulders and pretended not to hear that as we half-sauntered away. Half because one of us was limping, and it wasn't me.

"We're having a football match." 

"Really!" This excited him.

"You better convince those other fuckers to let me be quarterback."

"Not happening."

"AWH, COME ON-"

Winter's office was always dreary to me; it reminded me that he was now operating from behind a desk. Sadness.

I waited until Bill was done and then headed in.

"Dani." I nodded to Nixon, smiled at Welshie and saluted Winters.

"Suh."

"How are we on supplies?"

I cleared my throat, shifting on my feet.

"We're a bit low, suuuh."

"How low?" 

"As in we have limited bandages, and I wouldn't want to go into a big battle because we don't have that much morphine in our stocks."

"How far do you think we could stretch it?"

"If we were able to go around collecting the men's tourniquets, it might help a little bit, sir."

He nodded in understanding.

"Alright, Dani. That'll be all."

I nodded, clapped my heels together, and saluted perfectly before turning and walking out.

What did this mean? Were we going back into battle? Awh, shit. We were on R&R. I should've known it was too good to last forever.

Ah, well. If so, I might as well go squander what dough I had left in my pockets.

**Several hours later;**

"Awh, I cry bullshit." I grumbled, throwing my cards to the table and standing to my feet, knocking my chair backwards before I swiftly caught it and set it aright.

"What, giving up, Dani?"

"Only because you cheat, Perco." I retorted as I sauntered away. I heard the slap of another deck, the word 'fold' and footsteps came hurrying after me.

"I don't cheat."

"Sure, Perco. Sure."

Just then, I saw Skip Muck and Malark.

"Malark, you owe me." Skip was saying.

"Awh, come on, we almost had him."

"There's Dani. You think-"

"I don't see why not-"

"Are you sure? If she-"

"Sh, here she comes-" Malark pasted a smile on his face, sidling up to me and grabbing onto my sleeve. "Dani!"

"Malarrrrrk!" I replied, greatly amused.

"How much dough do you have?"

"Thirty, why?"

"Shit, you're _broke_!" 

"Don't I know it."

"Can I borrow it?" 

"Say wha-?"

"Craps."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess. I don't think I can get any more broke anyways." Digging it out of my pocket, I handed it to him.

"You wanna come watch? Might give me some luck."

"Sure. Might as well look into my investment."

I had only taken a few steps when I heard another voice behind me.

"Dani!"

I turned. 

"Gawge!"

"You wanna come see a movie? They're playing _The Spoilers_."

I hesitated. I had just said that I would go watch Malark at craps to give him some luck. George had utterly _impeccable_ timing.

"Sure, I might pop in later."

He frowned for a moment. I could have sworn I saw disappointment flicker in his eyes but then it was gone.

"Alright."

Uncountable time later, I was still watching Malark play. He had blown all my dough, all of Perco's, half of Skip's, and then he had miraculously come back and boom, we had money again.

I looked down at the dough he had in front of him, then at the dice in the-man-who-we-were-betting-on's hand, and I nudged him and whispered; "'Ey, Malark, you should stop playing before you lose all of that."

He wisely took my advice, taking one last, very low bet (and losing it), before he collected his earnings and we strode off, arm-in-arm. He paid me back - with a little extra (more than a little) - and I jogged off to go find that movie.

When I ducked inside the flap, I looked around and immediately spotted George sitting all the way on the right end of an otherwise empty aisle of chairs. In front of him; Lipton and Toye. Behind; Skip and Perco. Hurriedly sliding into the seat next to him, I quickly pulled out the ten bucks I had borrowed from him while asking: "Did I miss it?" 

"Naw, you're good." He murmured back, flashing a long glance over at me before looking back to the projection. I inconspicuously slid the ten into his hand, accidentally brushing him with my own digits. His skin upon mine felt miraculous; he was warm, despite the chill outside, and the touch felt somehow surreal. He glanced over at me again, shuffling the money in his pocket but maintaining eye contact.

My breath caught in my throat. In the light of the projection, his eyes appeared black. His lips - which I had just realized were perfectly shaped - were holding a cigarette between them casually.

"And Dani surprises once again."

He had pushed me off guard and I struggled to maintain any scraps of brain power I had left in my clutches.

"Hm?" 

"You paid me back."

Joe Toye turned around with an expression of intense irritation on his face. I guessed Luz had tried talking before.

"Shut u - Daniii." He complained in a whisper. "Do you have to sit next to him?" 

I snickered evilly.

"Why yes, Joe. I do."

George Luz + Dani + movie + other men in the tent = you'll have to live with it, because we don't shut up.

Joe Toye, dearest Joe, rolled his eyes and turned back in his seat.

We stayed nearly silent for a few minutes, using our communication system of eye rolls, head jerks, and faces to make conversation between each other. Finally, George went back to watching the movie.

"Look at me: I'm John Wayne! The costume department set me up with these great Navy whites, whaddaya think?"

"Luz, shut up." Joe Toye hissed from in front of us.

Even Sarge Lipton turned around with an annoyed look on his face.

"I'm trying to watch this." He whispered, and George's face was immediately innocent.

"I've seen this movie thirteen times, okay?" 

"Well I haven't, so shut up!" Joe Toye said.

"Watch the movie, fine!" George gestured emphatically to the projectile.

AND THERE WAS SILENCE.

All except for Malarkey talking not-so-quietly to Muck right behind us.

"Hey, Skip, where you been? I been looking all over for ya."

"Well, Don, I was home in Tonawanda, but then Hitler started this whole thing, so now I'm here." Skip replied sarcastically and I chuckled, wrapping my arms around myself and sliding down in my seat as their conversation moved on to craps and Malarkey's incredible luck of the night.

Suddenly, almost one minute later, Luz nudges me and whispers:

"Here it comes." He then proceeded to lean up and poke Lip. "Lip! Favorite part." Lip shushed him, but we rather ignored him as I sidled closer to Luz in anticipation of our greatest moment of the film yet.

"Got a penny?" We said together, a good seven seconds before the actual line, giving us time to rehearse. Joe Toye turned around to look at us in annoyance, but we ignored him. "Got a penny?" He repeated and I giggled as he took a draw from his cigarette and put even more effort into it, right before she said it. I turned my face towards George, batted my eyelashes coyly and said: "Got a penny?" as she did.

Lip turned around to glare at us as we both started laughing. I immediately grew doe eyes and pointed to Luz while he pointed to the screen, caught Lip's evil look, and then asked: "What?"

"See the way he's looking at her?" I whispered to Luz once Lip had turned back around and Johnny Boy was continuing on to his line about it being an English penny. 

"What's wrong with the way he's lookin' at her?" 

"He's looking at her like don't-turn-me-down-or-it'll-break-my-bashful-and-inconceited-heart. Nobody ever looks at a broad like that."

"You're jealous."

Before I could reply, the lights faded on and we all let out a groan of protest.

"It's the Duke, you can't do that to the Duke!" George called to the two men marching up to the front of the room, but the only reply to our very adamant cries of outrage was...

"QUIET! I SAID, QUIET!

"Oh, shit." I whispered.

"Elements of the First and Sixth SS Panzer Division have broken through in the Ardennes Forest." George rolled his eyes and his head at the same time, and my nose twitched. "Now, they've overrun the Twenty-Eighth Infantry and elements of the Fourth. All officers, report to respective HQ's, all passes are cancelled."

If possible, there was more complaining about that announcement than there was about the movie being stopped in the middle.

I shuffled out with all the others, trailing at the back of the pack, right behind Luz and Joe, whose bad mood appeared to have vanished as he asked George for a smoke and then a light, which George handed over.

"Gawge." I drawled. "Why the fuck have you got my lighter?" 

"She's drawling," he said to Joe. "Never a good sign."

"You should probably give her lighter back."

George did so, glancing back at me and shrugging.

"Sorry, Dani. Borrowed it this morning, musta forgotten to put it back."

"Borrowed, my ass." I mumbled, still drawling, loud enough for him to hear as I brushed past him.

"Oh, great, you're mad at me now?" He called after me. I flexed my hand around the lighter, noting it was still warm from the heat of his body.

"I'd take that as a yes." Joe murmured to him as I stalked away in silence. George mumbled an agreement.

I vaguely wondered how in hell George could practically hand me buckling knees and then not five minutes later, irritate me to hell. It wasn't as if he was-

Oh. Wait. I know how now; he was George Luz.


	18. 5: Choices

**A/N: **Sadly, I must announce: we are now halfway through** BoB. **To my dearest darlings**: **_**Lift the Wings**_**, **_**Ryuu Miyori**_**, **_**CP2girls**_**,**_** AivieEnchanted**_, and_**LANO7070**_**:** thank you. :) I can't say it enough.

P.S. I'm going to try to post an additional chapter, just because... well. Because I need the love of reviews to brighten my life because, right now, my life kinda sucks. Well, anyways. Read and Review! :)

**Chapter 18 ****- Choices**

_It's a long long way down_

_To the dark side we're bound._

_Tattered and torn;_

_We're wasted and worn._

"Malarkey, do you want to get left behind?" 

"But I got all this dough-"

I groaned and slapped myself on the head.

"MALARKEY. Give it to a supply officer to deposite in the bank so you don't _lose_ it. Dumbass."

"Dumbass." He returned but the effect was rather ruined by the fact that he was turning and running off to go find a supply officer who would be willing to put Malark's money in the bank for him. And _I_ was the dumbass.

We had about as much ammuntion as we did morphine (almost nada) and yet the men were clustered around the backs of the trucks, about to climb in to ride off to a place some of them would probably never return from.

Who was the army fucking this time? We had no ammunition. We had no morphine, no bandages, no grenades, no nothing. The replacements (that had to be sent in because of the losses from the _last _failed operation) were in desperate need of further training and our CO must have had connections or he wouldn't have been our CO in the first place.

We were _not_ ready to go back into battle, but yet we were being sent back in. It begged the question: what the fuck?

Hurrying over to a truck, I began to climb in, pausing and looking over so I could take one last look at the place I had survived for another few weeks, only to find brown eyes on me. I looked away, slung myself into the truck, sat my ass down, and settled down to wait.

**5 hours later;**

"Dani."

No one asked George Luz to come up and start talking to me. No one asked him to say my name. Or at least, I hoped they hadn't, for their sakes.

"George."

"I apologize." 

"Mm?" 

"For whatever unforgivable sin I may have commited."

"Hmmmm..."

"And I beg of you, please, take it into your... your-"

"Incomparable."

"-Yes, your incomparable mind to maybe, just maybe, grant me with a smile. Just one, before I die."

I knew he was half-joking. However, I liked the fact if he was half-joking, he was also half-serious.

"Doing good so far."

"But.. but... but!" He sputtered. I allowed a smile to come across my lips.

"George, words don't suit you."

Silence. Finally:

"I fucked up. Sorry."

"You're forgiven."

"Now how come you get to pull long words and yet when I try it, you-"

"Utterly dismiss you? Does it make you feel incompetent and undeservedly wretched, George, to realize that your long words are usually incorrect?" I smirked.

"Ass." He growled.

"Takes one to know one." I snarked before we heard the call to get our asses back in the trucks. Of course, the man yelling it (dearest Buck Compton) put it in much nicer terms, but... details. I suddenly felt drained at the thought of having to climb back into the trucks and pretend like nothing was wrong while heading off to another battlefield. Of course I could handle it. I just didn't _want_ to.

"Well, Luzzy Boy-"

"Have I not won enough of fair Dani's favor for her to at least ride in the same truck as me?" He slung his arm across my shoulders and I subconciously returned the gesture.

"Sure, Luzzy Boy."

"Oh. And Dani Darling, stop calling me that."

"Anything for you, Judge Fuzz."

"What the fuck?"

We reached a truck and he, like a nice guy, let me go first, even going so far as to give me a hand up. Of course, I knew it was probably only because he liked the view of my ass, but I liked to think it that it was because he cared enough about me to help me up, even if I didn't need the help. He even went so far as to plant his ass on the seat beside me.

"Hey, you. Hey, _you_!" 

I turned to look at the replacement who was on my other side, curious as to who he might be so bold as to address. He was staring at _me_, the punk.

"What?" I asked testily. Here's where he messed up and had made it blaringly obvious he was a replacement: anyone who had lived with me for more than a week had realized that if I replied in any sort of irritated tone, you were to get down on your knees and beg forgiveness for deeming to even _look_ at the majestic Dani.

But no.

"What's your name?" He continued.

Didn't he know that was dangerous? I could almost sense every other man in the truck sending him warning signals with their eyes. 

"Dani."

"Dani what?" 

"Shoemaker."

"Oh. Your dad make shoes?" 

"No. He was a grocer."

George, seated across from me, started laughing uproarously. Apparently the kid didn't even know my name or who that name belonged to - oh, pity his soul - despite my gawful reputation of being the only girl in the Armed Troops of Manliness.

In the long and restless ride, we stopped very few times, and only for a few minutes. We took a quick piss, maybe a smoke, lit a few fires to warm our hands, and then we were gone again, staggering up and down over the ridiculously bumpy road.

"Hey, Dani," said a certain man named Luz who was leaning over to hear and speak to yours truly better. "What did you want to be when you were a kid?"

"G.I. fucking Joe." I shot back quickly before even thinking about it. Of course I hadn't wanted to be G.I. Joe. When I was a kid, women hadn't even been accepted as a fighting force, let alone be counted as able to participate in a man's war.

Looking back at my life, I hadn't even really wanted to BE anything. I had dreamed, of course. I had dreamed a lot. But I had never wanted something so badly that I was willing to give the rest of my life towards it. The only person I had ever wanted to be like was my mother, and I had definitely never wanted her occupation.

"Hey, Dani," said a certain man named Luz who was once again leaning forward to speak to and hear the reponse of yours truly, and it was only then that I realized he had switched seats with Cobb and was now across the truck from me. Of course, that wasn't any great distance and didn't even seem to be, since it was a very crowded truck, but he had still moved. In my irritated female state, that was offensive.

"_What_?"

He thought about it for a second.

"It can wait."

"Fuckerrrr."

He only flashed me a charming smile and went back to whatever conversation he had been having with a replacement. I, uninterested but bored, turned my head so I could hear what they were saying better.

"See? I told you she would."

"That's..."

"Yes. She's a woman. Got a problem?" Luz was suddenly glaring at the replacement, who was instantly cowed and shuddered back into his seat.

"No, sir."

"Hey, Private." I said, politely kicking him in the knee with my boot. "What's your name?" 

"Smith, sssiiiiirrrrr-MA'AM! Daniel Smith Jr."

"Dani Shoemaker." I kicked his knee again so I wouldn't have to reach over and shake his hand. "Ain't that nice. We could be twins, our names are so similar." I yawned. Staying up does something to a girl.

"Well, my mother did call me Danny Boy-"

"How nice!"

"Dani."

"George."

"Cobb, can we-"

Cobb shuffled back over to the other side of the truck, back into his former seat, muttering something about the mood swings of Dani. Or at least, that was what I caught.

George sat back down next to me, looking over at me and seeing something on my face. His expression grew still, his eyes watching my face carefully, his fingers pausing in the activity of pulling a cigarette out of his pocket.

"You okay?" He asked. I had a strange deja vu moment, except as I remembered it, we weren't sitting in a truck, getting cold: we had been standing in a bar, pressed close together because a replacement had almost knocked me over and he had supported me so I wouldn't fall on my face.

The memory brought a smile back to my face and I found myself wishing to repeat that scene, if only because, then, we had been standing close, or because, then, he had looked remarkably handsome (I just hadn't noticed before), or because, then, we hadn't been going back off to battle.

"Yeah, George." I said slowly. "Yeah. I'm okay."

Satisfied, he turned back to light (and then smoke) his cigarette and resume his previous conversation with Toye, who was sitting next to Cobb.

Eventually, the urge to close my eyes became almost overpoweringly strong and I considered my options.

1: Fall asleep on a replacement's shoulder + George sitting next to me = really uncomfortable, and sure to cause teasing.

2: Fall asleep by myself with my head hanging down + never being able to sleep in that position = really uncomfortable.

3: Fall asleep on George's shoulder + Toye watching = uncomfortable, and probable to cause teasing.

Which would you choose?

I found myself, Dani Shoemaker, leaning on George Luz's shoulder and letting my eyes slip shut. And despite the rumbling of the truck, the talk of the men, and the worry in my brain, the world went black.

As I slipped into sleep's embrace, I imagined I heard George's voice shushing the men and stage-whispering that Dani was asleep.

The mind can play the funniest tricks when it's about to hibernate.


	19. 6: Pause

**AN: A quick shoutout toooo: AivieEnchanted, Valkyrie-chick, ber1719, CP2girls, Tears and Rage, EmmyMK, wheresmyothershoe, FailedWriter, Riyuu Miyori, and vladisnoangel.**

**Guys... the reviews are really helping. And I cannot tell you how grateful I am. Also, it's been brought to my attention by several (very awesome) people that some other (very awesome) people might want to (very awesomely) review, but they don't have an account. So, I will... turn on anonymous reviews! :) Just, please, leave some sort of name, so I can keep track of who's who. I'm OCD about that stuff. /:**

**Chapter 19**** - Pause **

_"With all the hatred in this world, in this good world, let us be kind to one another."_

**...**

_My soft hands touched the shiny keys, first the black and then the white, each imprinted with a letter. I could see what such a machine would be used for, what it could do to the world, what magic it could create, what inspiration those letters might bring._

_It was a beautiful typewriter: one of the best vintages. The keys had been worn from use, but that only made it more enticing; it meant that these keys had been powerful before. Because that was exactly what they were: powerful. They had the opportunity, the strength, and the promise to change the world as we knew it._

_The sight of those keys stayed with me; I thought about it while I ate, I dreamed about it, I breathed it in..._

"Dani. Dani." I felt his hand on my cheek, along my jawbone, fingers gently positioning my head upright, but I still had to struggle for the willpower to open my eyes. "We've stopped."

My first impression of Bastogne: it was cold.

My second impression of Bastogne: it got colder.

My third impression of Bastogne: See Above.

We even had to trek down the road to our final destination. Of course, nobody was particularly happy about it, but they were forced to simply tuck their hands into their pockets, and if they were complaining, I glared at them and they shut up. Oh, it was wonderful to have in your possession the Magical Glare of Dani. Every time I used it, somewhere in the world, a baby started crying (but that had absolutely nothing to do with my glare, because the baby just has good timing and started crying: babies do that).

**The Next Morning:**

"My dearest Dani, you are a-"

"Wonderful human being? A charming, intelligent, sophisticated woman?"

"-Dumbass."

"Fine, then! I shall no longer honor you with my admirable presence!" I stuck up my nose and walked away as Skip Muck watched in amusement and Don Malarkey, the brave fool, called after me:

"You do that!" 

"Some people," I said to George as I was passing his foxhole and just so happened to see his face, "they just don't appreciate the great gifts in life."

He grinned, probably having heard the entire thing.

My paratrooping boots were not the warmest thing, so my feet were practically quaking from the cold. (Of course, that's an exaggeration, but you aren't supposed to know that.)

I moseyed over to where Doc Roe and Spina were sitting and examining their medic bags and supplies. I was tempted to catapult into their midst, but I decided that wasn't particularly wise. Doc would probably stare at me questioningly and I'd have to give him the innocent eyes.

So, I just slid down into the foxhole, just as Doc was saying:

"-More morphine, this is all I got." He was holding a single syringe.

"Hey!" Spina protested, and I realized I had accidentally sat down on his leg.

"Well, hello!" I replied, getting off his leg so he could move it. He was still looking at me as if he was offended, but he moved his leg, so I figured he must have forgiven me. "Oh, and Doc, we could collect it from the men. A lot of them still have morphine left from Holland."

He nodded slightly, signaling I'd actually had a good idea. Yes!

"You got extra scissors?" Doc asked.

"Nuh-uh. Just the one." Spina took a drink from his canteen.

I head Dike yelling for 'First Sergeant Lipton' while tramping through the snow like he was at a Fourth of July celebration, and I had to turn away to hide the smile. Foxhole Norman indeed. I had named him well.

"Sir." Lipton called from where he was standing next to a foxhole, talking to the men.

"What's this?" Dike demanded, putting his fist on his hip like a spoiled young girl who wasn't getting her way. "Three medics in one hole?" 

"Yes, sir." Spina replied before I could mention I wasn't exactly there in that exact hole to stay... exactly.

"Well what's going to happen to us if you take a hit, huh?"

Didn't he know that no one wanted to discuss, talk about, or even think about the inevitability of life or death on a battlefield?

Finally, Lipton came walking up through the fog to Dike, probably wondering as curiously as I was what the hell Dike had overlooked _this_ time.

"Sir?" Lip asked dutifully.

"First Sergeant, where's my foxhole?" Dike demanded, as if someone had stolen his foxhole and placed it where he couldn't find it.

I hid my smile, peeking up at Lipton, whose face was unfathomable as he looked at Dike a moment before answering.

"It's back here, sir. Maybe you missed it, huh? I'll walk you back, sir. You're a bit close to the line here."

"Gahhdamn it." Dike said as he tramped back to where he came from.

Deciding my help was no longer needed, I ceremoniously handed the shovel to Doc, lifted my blithe little self out of the foxhole, and walked off to get started on rounding up the morphine from the men.

I had worked my way from the OP all the way back to about the middle of the line and I was-

"Dani," came a voice from practically beneath me.

"Shit, everyone wants to talk to me today." I was secretly happy, though, as I stopped walking, standing next to his radio, across from him. "I think it's because I have a magnetic personality."

"Or you're a medic and everyone thinks you can magically cure them."

I decided to ignore where that argument could go, and, glancing around, changed the subject.

"Dike lost his foxhole." I proclaimed in a more hushed tone.

"Shit. You're fucking with me."

"Nope."

"Shit." He seemed like he was thinking about something else. He was even repeating himself.

"You just said that."

"Oh. Well."

Pause.

"I had a good idea!" I exclaimed, remembering my small triumph. Perhaps it wasn't such a _brilliant_ idea, but I wasn't used to having to _try_ to keep the conversation going with George. It always just... happened.

"That would be a first."

"Shuddup, George."

He smiled. A small smile, but it made me feel good inside.

"So, how's the genius Dani been in the last 30 seconds since I saw her?"

"It wasn't _that_ long ago... it was more like eternity."

"Sure, Dani." He snorted. "Just answer the damn question." 

"Testy, testy. I've been cold. Very cold."

His lips quirked.

"I hadn't noticed." He retorted dryly... and then he just looked at me for a moment. My knees practically knocked together at the expression in his eyes. I knew that expression. He was about to say something, do something, that might not exactly be wise. "Dani, can I ask y-"

_BOOM._

I gasped, throwing myself down into the foxhole and accidentally on top of him.

_BOOM._

I felt his arms around me, but I hardly thought about it as I waited for it all to end.

_BOOM. BOOMBOOM. BOOM. BOOM._

Finally, there was silence. My limbs were shaking, I discovered, as I raised my head, all thoughts of whatever he was going to say out of my head. I hadn't been that surprised (and in consequence, scared) in my life before, let alone by something that was _meant_ to frighten or intimidate me.

If only I'd known.


	20. 6: Loads of Malarkey

**A/N: **.com/s/ap/20100925/ap_on_re_as/as_afghan_amputee_soldier - This guy's my new hero, and he was even before I found out he was in the 101st Airborne *cough cough* sound familiar? Anyways.

Shout-outs to the AMAZING: _**Lift the Wings**__, __**Failed Writer**__, __**Tears and Rage**__, __**hodhod2011danger**__, __**CP2girls**__, __**wheresmyothershoe**__, __**Ryuu Miyori**__, __**BoBlover1**__, __**AivieEnchanted**__, __**ber1719**_. You guys are, like, magical. (And you have _ber1719_ to partially thank for this chapter, because yesterday morning I got a review from her that motivated me just enough to get my ass out of bed.)

I got the strangest feeling that a lot of you guys were frustrated because you never found out what George was going to ask. Truth is, guys, I struggled putting this one out there, so instead of updating next weekend, I'm going to update next whenever I reach 110 reviews. It's not because I need to reach a goal - it's simply an attempt to buy myself more time. I'm sorry, guys. If I get the next chapter finished before then, I _will_ update, but I doubt that's going to happen, because I'm honestly getting bogged down with everything in my life right now. I can't even make excuses for myself or tell you what exactly is going on except that my brother's leaving for the Army in exactly one week.

Anyways. Enjoy this one. And please, Read and Review.

**Chapter 20 ****- Loads of Malarkey**

_Each day is a gift,_

_And not a given right._

**...**

Spina was sent off to find 3rd, get some supplies, and eat a hot meal. I wanted to go with him, and so he chose...

Heffron.

"I tell you, this is only more proof that there is absolutely NO justice in this world!" I exclaimed, beating my fist against my knee a little too hard. "Ow."

Of course, I was keeping the men out in the OP company. (This consisted of Daniel Smith Jr. continually looking over at Penkala with an expression of: _is this girl for __REAL__?_)

It was when Popeye and Garcia relieved us that we finally crawled back into relative safety and headed to get something to eat - which usually consisted of unknown slop that reeked to high heaven - and discovered the news.

Spina and Babe had gotten their little asses lost in the woods, so Heffron stumbled into Jerry's foxhole. There was one minor problem: Jerry tried to shoot Babe in the ass as they were running away from Jerry's foxhole.

"Hey, how come when they shoot at me, they hit me, yet when Babe does, they don't even hit his ass?" I protested, in stitches at the image crossing my mind of Babe running away from Jerry.

"Should have shot Hinkle in the ass!" Malark exclaimed, nearly laughing his own ass off.

"Hinkle nearly shot _him _in the ass!" Muck replied, in nearly the same state as Malark.

"These smell like my armpit!" Malark complained.

"You want syrup with that?" Joe Damangus turned to ask from where he had just given me a cup of - yummmm - slop.

"Thanks, Gus." I murmured, sliding my hands around it. At least it was hot. I always called him Gus because I could never get his last name right, and therefore always tried.

"Be honest, Joe, what's in these things anyway, huh?"

"Nothing you won't eat, Malarkey." Joe (Gus) replied.

"I won't eat Malarkey." Skip retorted, making me laugh again.

"Hey! Hey, maybe Hinkle would like your share, huh?"

"I should have shot him when I had the chance." Babe griped.

"Running backwards, Babe?" Penk scoffed.

Of course, this little gathering was too happy (especially when I elbowed Malarkey over and squashed down next to him), so Lieu Peacock probably decided he should interrupt the happiness.

"Anyone seen Lieuteniant Dike?"

Malark, the dumbass, decided to answer correctly.

"Uh, try Battalion CP, sir."

"Try Paris," Skip snorted after Peacock had shambled himself away.

"Try Hinkle," Malark giggled, which triggered a whole new round of hilarity from the encircling men.

"HINKLE, SWEETIE, I'M HOMEEEE." Penk called in a horrible Jerry accent as he stood and tried to put his arms around me. Laughing, I shoved him off.

"Hey, Doc, Lieuteniant Dike's got a full aid kit. Try him."

"Yeah, I'm sure he's not using his." Malark chortled.

"Maybe Hinkle's got a syrette for you!" 

"Eat your strudel."

"Hinkle Vinkle, eat ze armpit, yah?" Malark said in the most gahdamn-awful Jerry accent I had ever heard.

Shaking my head, I didn't even try: I stood up and walked away, nodding to Doc, who was sitting on the ground a little apart from the other men.

It seemed that every day was colder than the last: if you weren't cold, you were freezing, and if your feet weren't wet, well... they sure as hell weren't cozy and dry.

I was the second skinniest person in the entire regiment, and I only came in second because of skinny-but-tough-ass Liebgott. That meant less body heat, and that meant more cold. I had to keep a strong face for the men, though. It felt like if I broke down and felt sorry for myself or showed a sign of weakness, I would be letting them down, and if I couldn't allow myself to do that.

When I was alone in my foxhole, though, I let myself wrap my arms around my freezing exterior, my lips clamp shut, and my thoughts travel back to the old days.

_"Just because the problem you are facing is the most difficult one you've ever faced before does not give you an excuse to sit back on your heels and say 'I don't know.'"_

_"But __**Opa**__-"_

_"No, no buts. You and you alone are your last and only hinderance, my __**Kind**__. No one else can stop you, unless you allow them to."_

"Dani."

With a start, I jerked my head up to meet the gaze of one George Luz, looking down at me in concern.

"Heeu?" It came out garbled, so I cleared my throat and tried again. "Yeah?"

"Are you alright?" 

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"Bullshit." When I made no reply to this accusation, he slid down into the foxhole and looked at me even more intently. "You look like-"

"Shit?" I interrupted. "I know, I know. Geezus, Luz, I'm just-"

"Cold." He said it. I looked at him. He was still looking at me as if he was reading my mind. "You're cold."

"No shit, Sherlock. That's kind of common, haven't you noticed?" I looked down at my hands, noticing they were chapped and rough. 

"Smartass."

"Dumbass."

"Come here."

Surprised, I looked up to find him beckoning for me to move under his arm. I hesitated before obeying.

"George..." I cleared my throat for the second time. "What were you going to ask me?"

"What was I going to ask you...?" 

"Before... boom boom."

"Oh. I was, uh..." I looked over at him and, since he was still slightly taller than me sitting down, a little up. "I was going to ask you what was for dinner."

That was a load of malarkey, and I _knew_ it was a load of malarkey because Luz _always_ knew what was for dinner.

I didn't press it.

**(A/N: **_**Opa**_** = Grandfather**

_**Kind **_**= child)**


	21. 6: Habits

**A/N:** Especially special thanks go to the very special: _**Master of Wishes, Ryuu Miyori, CP2girls, wheresmyothershoe, AivieEnchanted, ber1719, Lift the Wings, BoBlover1, zombie lovely, **_and_** cblols.**_

I don't think I'd be exaggerating at all when I say: I FRIGGING MISSED YOU GUYS! Thanks for not giving up on me, and I cannot express my gratitude for the warmth and understanding you've given me while I've been so devastated about my brother going off into the Army. I _cannot_ tell you how much I appreciate it; it really helped me through, and I feel kind of helpless because all I can hope to thank you with is broken words from a writer who doesn't know what to say.

Anyways. I'm going to try and make up for the lack of an update last weekend. Read and Review! (:

**Chapter 21 ****- Habits**

_And I've been told;_

_Don't let your heart grow cold_

**...**

_It seems to be becoming a habit, keeping the men out in the OP company_, I reflected to myself as I crawled the final few yards and -

The barrel of a pistol was abruptly shoved in my face and I held my hands up, only to see Joe Toye on the other end of the thing threatening to kill me.

That was when I began to question my life choices.

"Shit, Dani," he said in his husky voice, lowering the gun. "Stop scaring the shit outta Mcclung."

"Yeah, _I'm _the one scared shitless," Mcclung mumbled under his breath. I laughed quietly. Joe was too much of a hardass to get scared shitless by someone shuffling through the snow.

I wasn't even supposed to be there. I was _supposed_ to be doing rounds, but since I had already been around half the camp-out without being on official business, and then I had done official rounds throughout the other half, I had figured I would just chill (literally) in the OP.

I slid into the foxhole before looking down, but once I did, I stopped what I was doing (which was pushing Joe into Mcclung. Friendly rivalry for somewhere to sit, you know).

"Joe. What's with the blankets?" 

"Lost my boots."

I didn't even have to ask how. His boots were gone, his feet wrapped in blankets to keep them warm. My mouth set for a moment, then I prepared to climb back out. Priorities: finish rounds. Find Doc Roe, report missing boots.

"I'll be back." I promised to Joe's look of inquiry. Running around, searching for Doc Roe while asking if everyone's limbs are intact isn't exactly a form of entertainment, but it was better than sitting still and letting the cold seep into my bones. I had forgotten that one small fact when I had gone over to the party that was the OP. Doc wasn't to be seen anywhere, though, but it might have been just because he was making rounds as well.

I kneeled and poked my head down into one of the few covered foxholes, nodding to Smokey Gordon and Alton More.

"'Ey guys. Anybody missing any body parts? No? Good."

"Dani." Smokey greeted me. "What's up?"

"Joe Toye's missing hi-"

"I wonder if that's Dani's ass," came from behind me. I stopped talking to listen. "Hm. I think so. Let's see-" A hand grabbed my ass. "Yep. That's Dani."

Jerking my head out of the hole, I arose in indignation, looking at the man in front of me.

"George. Fucking. Luz."

"Hello, Dani." He smiled at me cheerfully.

"I. Have. A. Bone. To. Pick. With. You."

Smokey was watching this with interest. I could just _feel_ it.

"It's a habi-"

"Fucking. Shut. Up."

"Yes, ma'am?" George asked meekly.

"Only bastards grab ass and you have grabbed my ass once too many. Therefore, you shall pay." I reasoned out carefully, then whirling on the 'man' behind him. "Julian, I'm surprised at you! Here I was, thinking you were a nice boy, and then you just let George fucking _Luz _grab my ass, just to see if - oh, I wonder if that's _DANI's_ ass." I turned back to Luz, giving him an acidic stare.

I didn't need this; not from him, not from anyone. I had enough on my plate already; we all did. I wasn't all that mad at George - in fact, not at all. I was simply annoyed. You would think with all the times he had grabbed my ass, he would know it by sight. But, no, he knew it by touch.

"Oh, come on, Dani. You know you liked it." George smiled at me cheekily and I felt my own cheeks turn even _more _red, and this new shade of cherry wasn't even because of the cold.

"You, George Luz, are going to get it," then turning back to Smokey, I added: "Joe Toye. Don't forget. Tell Doc Roe if you see him; I can't find him."

"Will do," Smokey promised, and I nodded slightly as thanks.

"Well, fellas, so long until our next meeting." I said, flashing a quick glare at George, and, ducking away, I set back off at a run, ignoring the wolf whistle that sounded out from behind me. I darted around the camp, checking up on everyone. Once the rounds were completed, I hurried back to the front lines, crawling forward the last few yards and sliding in.

"Joe, do those blankets really work?"

"Not really. They help."

I moved closer to him to help the chatter in my teeth.

"Would it help more if I sat on them?" 

He cast a sarcastic look my way.

"Be my guest."

"On second thought, I don't want your cold feet up my ass." My recently_ grabbed _ass.

Just then, we heard the sounds of someone crawling up and Joe turned, raising his pistol in case it was Jerry come to knock on our doors. It was Doc.

"You guys okay?" 

"They got hot food. Can you smell it?" McClung said.

"Toye, you missing something?" 

"Home." He replied and I stifled a chuckle.

"Ask him to dance, Doc." McClung muttered, Joe turning to give him an annoyed look for ratting out and we instinctively ducked as gunfire broke out from across the clearing.

"Toye, show me your feet," Doc insisted once it had ceased.

"You watch the gahdamn line, McClung." Joe said, leaning his back against me to show Doc his bundled feet.

"Where your boots?" 

"In Washington, up General Taylor's ass."

This time, I couldn't refrain from laughing quietly.

"I don't believe this..." Doc muttered, almost to himself.

"I can move better in bare feet, Doc."

"Well, what happened?"

"I took them off to dry my gahdamn socks and they got blown to hell, okay?"

"Well, what's your size?" 

"Nine. Just like everybody else."

"Not mine. I wear a-" I protested before getting cut off by Doc.

"Come on, Shoemaker."

With a huff, I slid out of the foxhole and ran after him, hunching over in hopes that the Krauts wouldn't see me and decide to blow me to kingdom come like they had Joe's boots. Of course, I doubted that their blowing Joe's boots to kingdom come was intentional. And Roe calling me Shoemaker... goodness knew it was difficult enough having to go by that name, let alone still respond to it.

"Where's Perconte's hole?" Doc whispered to me once I caught up to him, and I silently took the lead, heading straight for it. I'd already been there about three hundred times. You could say I had the location memorized.

"Frank, you keep cleaning those teeth, the Germans'll see you a mile away. Shoot you dead." Martin said before he walked away.

"Thats right, Peewee, you keep laughing!" Frank retorted through a mouthful of paste. He was brushing his teeth. _Again_.

Doc and I jumped into the 'hole, getting greeted by Skinny right before Doc spotted Frank's bag and grabbed it.

"Doc. My stuff!" Frank protested and I hid a smile as Doc shook the contents onto the ground. "Awh, c'mon, _Doc_."

"What, you got a drugstore in here?"

"No, I own my stuff. Well, what're you lookin' for?" He asked as Doc rifled through the articles and tin cans and whatnot.

"Scissors." Doc replied, somewhat triumphantly as he held them up. "Thank you, Perconte."

We jumped back out of the foxhole and I listened to Perconte's cries of "Took my gawdamn scissors!" with no small amount of amusement. It was strange how much you could find amusing while freezing your ass solid.

We hadn't even been there for three days yet, and we were surrounded, on all sides. The poor Krauts: we were fucking paratroopers, for goodness sakes, and not just any fucking paratroopers; we were the fucking 101st. Those Jerries should have been screaming and running for their lives.

The lines were spread out to the point of almost nonexistant. It was like having a piece of very burned bread and you also have a drop of butter on a knife, and you have to try to make that one single drop of butter spread over the entire piece of very burned bread: it just wasn't going to happen. So naturally Jerry wandered through our lines to use the slit trenches, since Jerry was too lazy to dig his own Jerry slit trench.

"The poor bastards have us surrounded," I said as I rubbed my hands up and down my arms in an attempt to get some blood pumping.

"You said only bastards grab ass," George Luz piped up.

I gave him a bored glance. I still hadn't gotten back at him for grabbing my ass, and therefore I was bored with him. It was more of a game; someone grabs my ass, and I take revenge.

"Your point, Mr. Luz?"

"Does that mean Jerries grab ass?"

"I think you have that covered, George."

"You liked it."

"Whatever makes you feel less lonely when I'm climbing out of the foxhole and preparing to walk away... like I am right now."

"Don't deny it, Dani!" He called after me. "You're not very good at lying."

Oh, if only you knew, you little bastard-who-grabs-ass.


	22. 6: Advancing in Another Direction

**A/N:** Amazing Shout-Outs are due to the amazing... DRUMROLL, PLEASE! _**EmmyMK**_, _**Lift the Wings**_,_** cHoCoLaTe-RuM**_, _**CP2girls**_, _**Tears and Rage**_, _**AivieEnchanted**_, _**zombie lovely**_, _**Volleyball Babe22**_, and _**Ryuu Miyori**_!

This week sucked. Make it better? Read and Review? PRETTY PLEASE? (I just begged. Now you have to. No, I'm just kidding haha. But please, Read and Review!)

:)

**Chapter 22**** - Advancing in Another Direction**

_In this bed of nails I will lie_

_And I will serve my time_

_Until I can control_

_What happens to us now_

"-And then you just turn this, and voila." His dark eyes looked at me appraisingly. "You know, Dani, you're not as dumb as you look."

"Wow, George, and I thought you loved me."

"Yeah, well."

He had finally taken it into his slow, thick skull to show me how to operate his radio, in case of emergency. Really, Luz? That _just_ occurred to you?

"It's time," Perc told us as he passed by our hole.

Time.

**30 minutes later;**

I couldn't understand what Father Maloney was saying. There were two possible explanations for this: either 1) it was because it was in Latin, or 2) because it was in Catholic.

I wasn't exactly sure.

"Amen," he said, and I internally exulted. Finally, a word that I knew! "Fight well for your God and your country," he added as we all began to trudge past him, "God Bless you all. Stay safe." The look on his face said: _God help them. There is nothing more I can do._

"That's it, guys!" Skip piped up. "Nothing more to worry 'bout: we die now, we gonna die in the state of grace." His eyes caught on mine and he gave me a small smile, swooping his arm around my shoulders. "Ain't that right, Dani?"

"Ain't that right, Skip?" I echoed it back, returning the embrace.

We were going off on a recon patrol. Translation into Dani's-Version-of-the-English-Language: Kraut-hunting.

Skip and I patted each other on the back before heading our seperate ways; he went to go chat with someone, and I went to go chat and help George get his gear/radio on, seeing as how Hoobs seemed to be struggling a bit.

"Peacock's leading, right?" George asked, glancing over at me.

"Right," Hoobs replied as I secured the radio; George gave one final shrug and it felt into place on his back.

"_Great_. That asshole couldn't find a snowball in a blizzard."

I had only a moment to agree before we heard afore-mentioned Lieuteniant Asshole's voice.

"That's it. Let's move out!"

"Tactical columns, gentlemen," Johnny Martin's voice gave direction where Asshole's hadn't. "Hey, Doc, Doc," he added, "it's a combat patrol. Why don't you, ah, stay behind and keep your ass out of trouble? You too, Dani."

"Yes, sergeant," replied Roe's gentle but troubled voice.

"Dani, did you hear me? Dani. Stay."

I pretended not to hear Johnny's little tacked-on you-too-Dani (or the other part), hoping if I showed no reaction, Johnny would give up and just let me go. I wasn't going to be left behind fucking _again_.

I placed one foot in front of the other, almost nudging shoulders with George because I was trying to blend in and be invisible-

"Dani," Johnny's voice came from right behind me, making me jump. "You heard me."

Dammit. Now I couldn't pretend I hadn't heard him that time; I had jumped almost two feet in the air.

"Huh?" Nobody ever said anything about playing innocent. "What, Sarge?" I gave him my best doe eyes.

"He said," George piped up, "stay behind, Dani. Finally, someone making Dani stay. I'll bet you the entire operation will run perfectly smoothly without her there."

"Aw, that wasn't very nice!" I mock-pouted, as if offended.

"You know what they say," he winked at me, "women bring bad luck."

"Then you should probably stay behind, George," I retorted, moving to continue walking with the men. AAAALMOOOSSSTTTTTT-

"DANI."

At Johnny's final, irritated, no-nonsense tone, my feet stopped, turned back around, and headed back to where Doc, with an expression I could rather relate to, was watching us - no, _them_ walk off. We exchanged sympathetic glances, neither of us saying much as we settled down to wait.

The silence was deafening, especially to my depressingly acute ears. I could not hear anything; I had no idea what was going on. For all I knew, the Krauts had decided to pop out of the trees and knife everybody.

My knuckles were going white, I realized, looking down to where they were gripping a miscellaneous stick that had been lying on the ground underneath some snow. Gunfire broke out. I winced automatically, cringing into the tree I had my back against. Doc was sitting only a few feet away, his normally gentle and understanding eyes now miserably glaring through the fog, which had gotten considerably worse since the men had left.

We both knew; gunfire usually meant someone was down. If there wasn't a medic, there wasn't anyone to take care of them.

Suddenly, after what seemed an eternity of distant shouts and harsh gunfire, the sound of footsteps jogging through the snow reached my ears. Doc Roe and I simultaneously rose to our feet, only to see a single man slow to a walk in front of us, holding his rifle in both hands and panting slightly from the exhertion of running away from where his duty was.

"What's happening, sir?" Roe's voice asked.

"We're pulling back," Peacock's nasal intonations replied, "we made contact. I gotta get to the CP."

My lips pressed against each other, trying to hold the words in.

_What, did you forget to give the order to pull back, Peacock? Is that why the men are not with you? Did you flee when the first Kraut bullet sounded out? Did you forget you're a fucking lieuteniant, in charge of those men who are currently being shot upon? Did you figure that they would be fine because they can handle the situation? Oh, I'M SORRY, DID YOU FORGET YOU'RE IN THE FRIGGING ARMY? Did you think help would be coming in reinforcements? IT'S THE FUCKING 101ST, OF COURSE THERE WON'T BE REINFORCEMENTS, YOU BIG FUCKING TODDLER._

If we weren't so short on the line, and if I had voiced my opinions, I probably would have been shot for what I would have said to that motherfucker, as he hurried past us and towards the CP.

Gritting my teeth together, I started off in determination to where the sounds of frantic yelling and grating gunfire was coming from, but a hand grabbed my arm.

"Dani, no."

I whirled on him, eyes ablaze.

"Am I supposed to just stand here and wait while my men die?" I asked the question even though I knew he couldn't answer it. I didn't expect him to, and he didn't. He couldn't. We both sank back down onto the ground wearily, waiting. Waiting.

The gunfire began to fade off, and then the sounds of boots rushing through the snow came to our ears. I tensed, my muscles coiling and bending like springs as I semiconciously prepared to launch off the ground and into action.

"On me, _move_!" I heard in the distance.

"Come on, let's go!" 

"Where the hell are we?" 

"Straight ahead, straight ahead!" A voice I distinctly recognized as Bull's answered. I could see their shapes through the fog, finally, rushing towards us with all the urgency that a mortal man's legs can muster.

A random gunshot rang out amidst the noise, and a man dropped to the ground about twenty feet away from me. I sprang to my feet instantly as two men picked him up by the arms and dragged him towards us. I met them halfway, already reaching for my medic bag.

The bullet had punctured his stomach; blood was beginning to flow from the wound and into his clothes, seeping into the material. Hurriedly pulling his clothing apart so I could see the damage, covering the large hole in his body with one hand as I simultaneously reached for a bandage with the other, barely conscious of Luz's voice across from me, speaking into his radio as I clapped the bandage on and began to go through the process of making sure it stayed on.

"Okay, I got you a jeep, Dani," he said to me breathlessly as I hurried to secure the strings that would keep the man's life source from streaming out onto the ground. "Hang on, we'll get you out," he directed this encouraging missive to the man who was still concious underneath my hands.

_"Martin? Martin!"_

_"Sir!"  
_

_"What's going on?"  
_

_"They got Julian!"  
_

Hastily, I somehow managed to cross the cords underneath his body.

_"Did you hit their OP or their line?"  
_

_"Their line, sir!"_

_"We gotta go back to get Julian outta there."_

_"No. Fall back!"_

_"We lost Peacock?" _

_"No, he's back at the CP."_

"You okay, Dani?" George's low but urgent voice whispered its way into my ears as I finally managed to tie the cords of the bandage, leaving a moment for me to reply. When I didn't, he continued. "Dani, we gotta go back." I pulled out a syrette of morphine, jabbing it into the man's shoulder just as the jeep pulled up. "Dani, we gotta move _now_, Dani. Come on, let's go! Dani, now! Let's go!"

"Alright, good to go." We quickly transported him to the jeep, and it started off with a sudden jerk, carrying him farther and farther away with every second.

I didn't seem to have time to contemplate it as, suddenly, a hand jerked on my collar and I was pushed, pulled, and dragged in what didn't seem to be one singular direction, all while listening absently to Johnny Martin's voice: _"Move! Let's go! Back, fall back!"_

It didn't seem real, somehow. It was like that stage between waking up and going back to sleep; you're almost there, but not quite. You're conscious, but not really. You're asleep, but you know. My feet didn't seem to be working, but I didn't seem to be worried. I was blank.

"Dani, move your fucking feet," Luz's concerned voice broke into my head, forcing me to regain any thought process I had lost. My limbs began to move again as we retreated.

I absently wondered what good retreating would do us anyway; it was advancing in another direction. We were completely surrounded. Not that I was complaining; the 101st could handle it, the sons of bitches that they were.

The next thing I really, actually remembered afterwards; we were sitting in a circle, their silence tacit in itself. Doc was sitting a bit off to the side. Malarkey, Heffron, a few others, Bull, George, and I was hunched in a kind of sandwich between George and Skip. Mechanically but as gratefully as a mechanical object can, I nodded to Gus as he handed me a cup of fresh slop, I heard footsteps come up a bit behind me, and then Johnny's voice speaking to Capt. Winters.

_"Julian got hit; it was his throat."_

I hunched over a bit more, trying to ignore the fact that maybe, just maybe, if I had been there, I could have done something. If I had pleaded with Johnny a bit, perhaps I could have gone. Perhaps that poor boy-not-yet-a-man wouldn't be subject to a Kraut's company right now. Perhaps.

_"We couldn't get to him, Captain." Johnny's voice continued. "We tried. Babe tried. We couldn't get to him. Dani - she..."_

His lowered tone trailed off. I found I didn't even have the heart to turn around, cock an eyebrow at him and say: 'WHAT'S YOUR FUCKING PROBLEM WITH ME, PEEWEE.'

His footsteps crackled through the snow, walking away, and another pair shuffled towards our little group silent-therapy session.

"Hey, Bull," Winters said as he sat down next to him. "Let me sit in here with you guys."

He shared in our silence for a bit. Time passed slowly, yet all too fast. Winters had things as CO that needed attending to, but yet he just sat there and gave us his silent comfort.

Eventually, I was forced to get up, knowing I needed to make rounds. Unfortunately, Winters followed me out.

"Dani," he said, once we were decently out of earshot of the other men, if not sight of eye. "Can I talk to you? Just take a minute."

"Sir."

"The hospital in Bastogne is short on nurses. I thought it might be good if you went in to help relieve them a bit, give them a hand. What do you say?" 

"Yessir."

No.

Please, no.

Not-

"You won't be too far from the men," he said, as if this was to bring comfort to my silent fears.

It didn't.


	23. 6: Churches of Hospitals

**A/N:** Everlasting thanks is due to _**EmmyMK**_**, **_**zombie lovely**_**, **_**cHoCoLaTe-RuM**_**, **_**Tears and Rage, AivieEnchanted, CP2girls,**_ _**Ryuu Miyori**_ and _**j6o6e6y**_.

I feel like a monster for having not updated, but I've been so frigging damn busy. Tests, quizzes, deadlines, tests, note cards, concert/shows, letters, music, tests, quizzes, more tests, and, oh, I got sick. Laryngitis (that's a sickness that infects the vocal chords/voice box/larynx/whatever the hell you wanna call it. In other words, I cannot talk a single word). So I had to stay home from school for two whole frigging days. _So_ I figured, hey, why the hell not.

Please, guys. Read and Review? Cheer up my (horrible) sickness? (:

**Chapter 23 ****- Churches of Hospitals**

_Nobody said it was easy,_

_Oh, it's such a shame for us to part_

_Nobody said it was easy,_

_No one ever said it was this hard._

Beneath me, the jeep rumbled in protest as it jostled over the bumpy sorry excuse for a road. In the early morning light, everything was blanketed by the usual thick fog.

_He was silent, his dark eyes flashing up to look at me every few seconds._

The drone of the engine in my ears reached a sort of monotone as I waited for my destination to appear through the forest of trees.

_There was nothing to say, nothing to do. All I could do was wait for that roar to approach and carry me off into the fog._

The outlines of the buildings were slowly becoming visible. Either that, or my mind was playing tricks on me.

_Suddenly, a noise came from the obscuring mugginess. As the vehicle pulled up to carry me away from my only remaining home, I suddenly remembered all the things I wanted to say; everything I needed to get out, in case..._

What looked to be a church steeple loomed above me in the dense mist.

_In case I never saw him again._

I could see it; the town of Bastogne. The town my men were out there, protecting. The town I was stuck in while they might be dying.

_I opened my mouth but there was no time. He stretched out his arms for a - final? - embrace; and for a moment, I let his body comfort me where he couldn't find the words to._

The jeep drew to a stop in front of the church, where the 'hospital' had been set up.

_"Stay safe, yeah?" I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut and subconciously fisting my hands in his jacket. "Don't forget about me."_

_"Never."_

I could see the bodies of dead men strewn in a pile next to the church, standing about three feet high. They were only lying there because no one had the time to properly dig a grave. My feet carried me out of the jeep, into the building on which the steeple was fixed.

_I didn't ask whether he was replying to the first or second command. I simply climbed aboard the waiting method of transportation, and it carried me away from my only home; because that was what George was. He was all I had left._

The air was permeated with silence broken only by the hurried, shuffling footsteps of the exhausted nurses and aids. This was not the silence of a church; deep and respectful, tamed by the soft mutters of 'hello', or in the Pentacostal case, joyful and exhuberant 'welcome into the house of God!'

No; this was a forboding silence, solemn and tacit, established as a substitute for peace by the beings who enforced it so unforgivingly.

I was lost in a place such as this. Where I had just come from, we hid our fear behind masks of bravado, waiting to get off the line while making jokes about the rancid-ass food.

"Dani Shoemaker?" An accented voice asked, coming from my right. I didn't bother correcting the pronounciation. It didn't even matter.

"Yes."

"Renée. Right this way, please."

I followed her down the hallway, past rows and rows of cots, tables, and injured men.

She was pretty, in a strong way, but tired and drawn-looking. I could see it in her eyes; she had seen war. She had fought on its plains, even if she had never fired a gun. Her steps were quick, but not panicked.

Renée Lemaire, I learned later, was one of only two nurses that they had, and she was a good one. She preferred sponging the patients, feeding them, giving them what medication we had instead of dealing with the fresh trauma, but that was alright; the other nurse - a black girl named Anna - was always there; splinting, dressing, and controlling the hemorrages that we saw far too often.

They were soldiers, in their own right.

The days began to blur past; I was busier than I could ever remember being, always going around to make sure no one needed anything, accepting the new admittances, sopping up blood with bandages we had to use and re-use, over and over again. I rarely got any sleep; if it wasn't my duties, it was the sound of some dumb shit the Germans were cooking up. They were out there; I knew they were out there, because there were still wounded men coming in every day.

Maybe I could have taken it a little easier on myself, but it seemed to be my only way of coping away from Easy. I hoped, I prayed, I wished that working hard and pushing myself ever nearer to my limits would help me not to think about them - George in particular. I worried about him. I worried about _them_. Every. Single. Minute. And I hated it. And so I worked my bones off.

I wasn't even truly aware of what month it was until Renée mentioned that she wished we could do something for the men for Christmas.

"Christmas?" I asked, in a scratching-my-head voice. "What's today? Novemberrrrr... no, that can't be right..."

"December the 20th."

"Holy-" She gave me a suspicious look. I gave her an innocent smile. She didn't like it when I cursed. "Yeah, doing something for the men would be nice." I agreed finally, "but the truth is, we don't have..." I trailed off.

The truth was; we didn't have shit.

**December 22nd, 1944:**

My hand was cupping the back of a private's head, helping him to drink his booze 'medicine' when I heard a commotion outside. A new arrival; something about shrapnel in the stomach. Sighing, I went back to trickling the liquid down the soldier's throat.

"Shoemaker?"

"Shit!" I squeaked, jerking my head up to look into a familiar face. "Gahdamnit, Roe, you're fucking beautiful."

He smiled, a bit shyly and barely there, but it was still a smile. He knew I had just spouted the first piece of shit that had come to mind.

"How are you?"

"Exhausted. How're the guys?"

He nodded.

"Luz told me to find you or die by air raid."

I chortled, maybe a tad evilly.

"No shit."

I missed that fucker. So, so, so, so much. I felt an aching in my chest start to develop; the aching that I had been trying to avoid for the past blur of time.

"So that little fucker's still alive is he? Damn." I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it. But it was my only facade, and it was one I clung to desperately. It was the only thing keeping me from admitting - no. No. "And Toye?" 

"Trenchfoot. He won't come off the line."

"Fuck..."

Suddenly, a voice called out, and after looking over his shoulder towards the door, he nodded to me quickly and walked briskly to the door. You didn't want to miss your ride out of town and back to the line, or keep a jeep waiting; you never knew what was waiting for you on the other side.

**December 23rd, 1944:**

It seemed that men had begun pouring in even more than ever. Merry Christmas to you too, Jerry.

"Renée, have you got-" A rather familiar hum sounded out, and I cocked my head, listening. Didn't I know that sound from somewhere? It grew louder. "HOLY SHIIIIIIIT, IT'S C-47s!" I whooped, pumping my fist in the air.

I knew what this meant. This meant supplies. This meant bandages. This meant medicine. This meant ammunition. And hopefully, there might even be winter clothes.

Sure enough, I was correct and before long, little bundles of joy came floating down from the sky to rest on rooftops and the street corners, as if put there by Father Christmas himself.

Renée kept dashing outside into the backyard, and always returned empty-handed. When I finally asked her why she kept doing it, she simply looked down at her hands and replied that she wanted a 'chute's white silk for a wedding dress. Stunned, I watched her walk away. I hadn't really thought about her getting married, or about her having a life outside of the hospital/church.

The next day, a soldier brought her a white silk 'chute. If only you could have seen the look on her face, my friends. If only.

But that was right before it began; that was right before our world turned upside down.


	24. 6: You Can Only Take So Much

**A/N:** It's late. Again. But hey, I figure it's better than nothing.

Thank youuuu; _**EmmyMK, Tears and Rage, Ryuu Miyori, CP2girls, AivieEnchanted, **_and_** booklover1357**_. You guys are phenomenal!

Read and Review? (:

**Chapter 24**** - You Can Only Take So Much**

_Fatal rain falls from the sky;_

_You find your fear hides in your eyes._

_You can only take so much_

_When buildings around you crumble._

There wasn't any warning.

One moment I walking towards the door, carrying medicine outside to a man who needed a fresh bandage, and then suddenly I was falling.

The next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes to find that disorientation had taken ahold of me. My body ached, but I couldn't remember why. I was lying underneath a pile of lumber that was piled up almost like the structure of a doghouse, but I couldn't think how I could have gotten there. When I moved my head painfully, I could see a light filtering in through some cracks a little way away in front of me, but I couldn't seem to muster any strength to move and try to crawl towards it. My lips released a groaning sigh and I relaxed back into whatever cold and hard surface was underneath me.

I'm not sure how long I was there. Minutes or hours, it seemed all the same. Time was a nonexistant entity in that small hole as I waited; to be discovered or to regain some sort of strength perhaps.

When I finally heard voices, they were distant and hurried. I called out, my voice weak and tired. Nothing. Licking my dry and chapped lips, I tried again, stronger. Silence. Again, I tried, and this time I heard faint steps approach, and then a voice.

"Hello? Anyone there?"

I pounded my fist against one of the beams that held me captive.

"Help." I croaked.

"We'll get you out."

I wasn't conscious when they did. Later, of course, I found out that the beams that kept me captive also kept me alive. The Germans had bombed Bastogne; the church was a wreckage.

When I opened my eyes once again, I was at a makeshift aid station, not even two hours later. The first thing I did was check for my dogtags; when they were discovered to be on my chain, I breathed a sigh of relief, darted a glance around, and beat the hell out of there. There was only one place that I could go.

It was too cold to go to the line on foot in the state that I was in and the only thing that I knew besides the fact that I wanted to see the men was the other fact that I did _not_ want to go back to any form of hospital. Suddenly, anything was better than the thought of being trapped again.

That's how I found myself standing in front of Col. Sink once again.

To say he was surprised to see me was an understatement. I could see him mentally twirling his moustache thoughtfully. Why was I even here? Why did I _have_ to see Col. Sink? Why couldn't I just settle for talking to his orderly or something?

Oh, right. Because I'd walked right into Col. Sink on my way to see his orderly.

"Sir," I saluted stiffly, despite my still-aching body.

"Shoemaker." I was almost honored that he remembered my name; then I remembered I was a woman and he would be hard-pressed to _forget_ my name. "What are you doing here?"

He probably thought I was supposed to be on the line. I wished.

"I was stationed at the hospital, sir, before it was bombed. I was... found buried in the rubble right inside the door." I had trouble getting it out. _Why is he even bothering to take the time with me_, I wondered internally. _The fucking town just got bombed, and he's paying attention to a lowly sergeant who happens to be a woman and got buried underneath a church's rubble?_

"I need a runner for a few days."

"Yessir."

That was all he said and just like that, I was Sink's runner - that actually consisted of sticking by him at all times and then running off if he needed me to run off. Fun. Of course, this job doubled as a mail runner.

I just wanted to be back amongst the men. The more men I saw while I was being Col. Sink's sidekick (except less note-worthy), the more lonely I got.

**...**

_They had done it. They had bombed Bastogne._

_"...the hospital in ruins..."_

_His mouth opened. He wanted them to know what he had lost; he wanted to yell profanities, curse those pilots, beat his fists against the ground._

_The one word that fell from his lips was worse; so, so much worse._

_"Dani."_

_Talbert, the unhappy bearer of bad news, mistook it for a question and, with a single shake of his head, killed any and all hope George might have harbored._

_He nodded once, now silent. A single pat on the back and that was it; that was the consolation prize he received for having his feet kicked from underneath him. He flicked his stub of a cigarette away and his hand subconciously went to his gun as he began the walk back to his foxhole._

_The battle must go on._

_Fuck._

**...**

**December 24, 1944:**

The motor of the jeep ran smoothly as the wheels bumped over the snowy terrain. The mail had just come in; this was my last day as a mail runner. Sink had told me they were putting me back on the line because of the shortage of medics, which was ironic; they had put me off the line because of the shortage of nurses and they were putting me back on the line because of the shortage of medics. They sure do fire you fast in the Army.

I didn't mind being put back on the line. In fact, I was happy about it. As long as it wasn't a hospital. Besides that, we were off to see Easy Company, perhaps to give them some good ol' Christmas cheer. I didn't know about the Christmas cheer part, but it felt like my Christmas present was simply getting to see the men, even if for a minute or two. Particularly...

The engine whirred to a stop, coming to a halt in front of the group of cold and shivering men. I climbed out of the backseat of the jeep while taking a look at the remaining letters in the medic bag I had converted into a mail bag, handing Sink the one that was appropriate.

"They're all sitting down to a Christmas Eve dinner of turkey and hooch back at the Division CP." Col. Sink told the men. "Damned if I don't like old Joe Damangus' rancid-ass beans better." He walked into and amongst their close circle, nodding in greeting. "Hello, Easy Company."

"Hello, sir."

It had gotten colder, I realized. Everyone had their arms crossed over their chests to preserve the body heat that the freezing wind whisked away. They hadn't noticed me yet; but I didn't want them to, not quite yet. It was good enough just to be back amongst the men. Besides, they needed to hear what Sink - who was actually currently speaking quietly to Cpt. Winters - was about to say.

"Men," Col. Sink finally raised his voice and began to unfold the paper, "General McAuliffe wishes us all a Merry Christmas. What's merry about all of this, you ask? Just this: we've stopped cold everything that's been thrown at us from the north, east, south, and west. Now, two days ago the German commander demanded our honorable surrendur to save the U.S.A. encircled troops from total annhilation. German commander received the following reply: 'To the German commander; NUTS!', giving our country and our loved ones at home a worthy Christmas present and being privileged to take part in this gallant feat of arms, we are truly making for ourselves a Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas to you all and God Bless you."

"NUTS, SIR! NUTS!" A few dumbasses replied.

On his way back to the jeep, Col. Sink stopped and laid his hand on my upper arm.

"This your last batch of mail?"

"Yessir." I replied.

"Very well. Have fun, Sergeant."

I gave him a gratified, beaming smile and turned back to watching the men eat. I didn't even want to contemplate how he knew I had missed the men. I had tried not to mope around _too_ much-

Out of nowhere, just as Sink was pulling away, a cry rang out; "DANI!"

I was suddenly flooded with hugs, pats on the back, a group hug, and a bunch of voices saying 'where the fuck have you been, Dani Shoemaker?'

"Yeah, where the fuck _have_ you been, Dani Shoemaker?" Bill teased me.

"Dead," I said, slapping him on the back of the head. 

"Well, then, why'd you have to come back?"

"Ungrateful son of a bitch." I returned, laughing.

And then it was like the Red Sea parting before Moses; everyone drew away. Confused, I turned around and standing there in front of me, staring incredulously, was the one man I had been longing to see.

It seemed as though he took two steps forward to cross the ten feet between us. I'm not sure how, but somehow, I ended up in his arms, getting the life squeezed out of me.

I didn't mind.

Not.

One.

Fucking.

Bit.

"You're not dead."

"You really thought you'd get rid of me that easily, George?"


	25. 7: Merry Christmas, Santa

**A/N:** Thank you, _**Ryuu Miyori, CP2girls, Tears and Rage, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, **_and _**AivieEnchanted.**_ :D You guys made this week so way better and goodness _gracious_, it's ridiculous what some people come up with. But you guys made it bearable.

A little tip; I loved writing this chapter. No, really. You can tell, just by the title.

Read and Review? (:

**Chapter 25**** - Merry Christmas, Santa**

_A quick message of holiday cheer,_

_But you've no idea how much I love you, dear_

_Can you stay here tonight,_

_Stay here to keep me warm and hold me tight._

**December 24, 1944:**

I was already cold.

There seemed to be no heat; there was no relief from the bone-deep chill that seemed to penetrate your very soul within seconds. The freezing wind didn't exactly help either.

I had gone off to do my mail business (having forgotten in the general excitement of seeing G - the men again) but couldn't seem to find too many of my favorite smiling faces, so I was heading back to an already lonely foxhole, when I saw a circle of men sitting around one of the larger holes. Just out of curiosity and perhaps a bit of mail-delivery-late-delivery-ness, I walked over and slid down between a red-head and a man with a nice ass. The afore-mentioned man with nice ass put his arm around my shoulders. The red-head just looked over and smiled at me for a moment.

Geezus, it must have been pretty bad if even Malark had missed me.

"You know the worst thing about this place?" Bill asked, obviously mildly pissed about this particular subject.

"The cold? The bad food? The lack of clothes, blankets, and supplies?" 

"There aren't any broads. I swear, I have not seen a _gahdamn_ skirt in months."

"What-?" I protested.

"You don't wear a skirt, Dani." He so kindly informed me. "Gahdamn, I would drop my gun if I saw a skirt."

"Yeah, and your gun wouldn't be the only thing you'd be dropping," I retorted, laughing good-naturedly. "Except the other item might require some unbuckling." My gaze flickered down to his pants and I grinned at the chuckles that ripped around our little group of comrades.

"She's got you there, Bill." Buck chortled.

"Anyway, speaking of broads..." I stood up and began digging through my bag. "I hope yours all sent you something."

I was instantly everyone's new heroine.

The men that did not get mail were absolutely dejected; the men that _did_ get mail looked either depressed or overjoyed. The poor chaps seemed to be homesick.

Despite my newfound role of heroism in the eyes of the men, that first night was miserable. I had forgotten how little you could sleep; I hadn't gotten enough sleep at the hospital because I was continually on my feet, moving around of my own accord. Here, almost but not quite lying down in a trench dug by your own hands, you couldn't fall asleep when you wanted to (which was most of the time). The Germans still stirred up noisy shit and I kept almost crapping my pants when I was scared out of a doze by some of the motherfuckers on the other side of the line.

**December 25, 1944:**

"Awh, poor wittle Dani," George said in a tone that almost sounded like a chicken, pushing his bottom lip out in a mock-pout. "Did you not sweep vewy well?"

"George. Who the fuck are you trying to sound like?" 

"...You."

"Funny. I didn't know I sounded like a chicken that got run over by a train and then revived by, I don't know, a nurse with a stick of adrenaline."

"You learn something new every day, huh?"

"Whatever, George," I laughed.

I didn't realize how worn out I was until Doc Roe asked me how much I had been eating/sleeping and I couldn't remember.

"Why, Doc?"

"Shoemaker. Feel your stomach through your shirt. Can you feel your ribs?"

My mouth didn't move as my fingers probed through my standard-issue shirt and jacket, since I was too cold to push my freezing fingers through the folds of material and feel for myself. I coughed, perhaps to fill the silence that stretched on as he waited for a response.

His eyes were worried.

"No, Doc," I finally lied. "I can't."

He didn't call me out on it. He let me walk away. What else could he really do?

A lot, it seemed.

There was noise, suddenly; lots and lots of noise. Bursts and flashes of light. In a daze, I was told that e had repelled another German attack. All I could remember was running from man to man and becoming exhausted.

I was settling down early for another miserable night - but one that looked like it would be worse than the one before - since I figured that if those damn Krauts took away my sleep, at least I would be resting my limbs.

"Dani," a voice hissed out of the snowy night. "Dani."

"Yes, oh God?" I replied sarcastically, not opening my eyes to see who it was.

"Dani, are you cold?"

_Then_ my eyes opened and lo, I beheld a man with his helmet on, crouching down next to my foxhole. The faint moonlight hid his face rather efficiently and the way they were whispering didn't allow me to figure out who it was, as ashamed as I would be to admit it, but I figured that if they knew my name, they couldn't be a Kraut, so therefore they were a comrade who was concerned for my well-being.

Well, logically thinking, the chances that someone besides Doc Roe was concerned for my well-being were very slim. It hadn't sounded like Doc Roe, but I could've been wrong. After all, I _had_ been trying to go to sleep and trying to go to sleep can do things to the brain. Therefore, I assumed that I could assume that it was Doc Roe. But what to tell him? What could I tell him that was true?

"No, God, thy servant is not cold."

"Dani Shoemaker, you are one horrible liar."

"There has only been one man in my entire life that has called me a liar, and that was when I was playing poker with him and I was taking it easy on him. How you doing, George?"

He grunted, which might have been because he was climbing down into my foxhole.

"George, what're you doing?"

"You said you were cold, so I came to warm you up." He explained this as if it was nothing. I wasn't sure if I was beginning to warm up because he had decided to be my own personal heater, or if it was because my skin had flushed and gotten warmer when my heart had speeded up. "Dani, this requires some cooperation." He chided gently.

Obediently, I shifted over in my foxhole. It was a large foxhole for just one person; I was an enthusiastic digger and it had originally been meant for two people.

He simply lay there next to me for a few minutes. We were silent, mostly. I thought I could barely think, let alone speak, yet somehow I managed to get the syllables out clearly and nonchalantly when the silence _was_ broken, which wasn't very often.

"Mind if I smoke?"

"Never have before."

He struck it up. The end glowed ember against the darkness. He took a few drags.

"You want some?"

"You know I don't smoke, George."

"I know. But there's a first time for everything."

I thought about this for a moment.

"Yeah, why the hell not."

He handed it over and I took a drag, choking slightly at the unexpected taste of it. The second pull was easy; I had been beathing in secondhand smoke for so long, I had almost become used to the real thing.

"Dani, why _did_ you join the army?"

I shrugged slightly, leaning into him a bit more as I struggled to think back to the place I had once called 'home'.

"I'm not sure. I suppose I just wanted an escape."

"Some escape, ay?"

"Yeah. Some escape."

The smoke from our cigarette filled the foxhole as we passed it back and forth between us, sharing it until it was gone and we were left to our own company again. He shifted towards me and I turned towards him, instinctively putting my arms around him even as he pulled me closer to him. Our breath mixed and mingled on the air. I could practically feel his blood coursing through his veins. Somehow, one of my legs had slipped between his.

"Merry Christmas, Dani." He told me, the ghost of a smile flitting across his face to the corners of his mouth, tugging his lips upward.

"I'd forgotten."

"I would have a present for you, but my special delivery package hasn't gotten here yet."

"You _are_ my Christmas present, what the fuck are you talking about?" I replied, daring myself to say it.

"Merry Christmas, Dani." He repeated, but gentler.

"Merry Christmas, Santa." I leaned my head against his chest and let myself relax into him. "Merry Christmas, George."

_The 101st had been surrounded for about 12 days before General Patton decided to come blunder in and lend us his tanks. They then proceeded to boast that they had 'rescued' us. What the fuck. They hadn't rescued us. They had lent us their tanks. So what's the big fucking deal, Patton? We were surrounded? Yeah, no shit! That's our fucking job. Needless to say, nobody in the 101st Airborne agreed to the statement that 'Patton had rescued the 101st' or 'Patton relieved the 101st' of their duties in Bastogne. We were doing just fine on our own. Either way; we were pulled out of that position and moved to another one in the Bois Jacques woods to clear the woods of all Kraut infestations. Needless to say, we needed supplies. We were the go-to guys, though. We were the best of the best. Apparently this meant we didn't need supplies and rest to stay alive just like everyone else._


	26. 7: Dreams of Death And Other Things

**A/N:** A quick shout-out to _**AivieEnchanted**_, _**Ryuu Miyori**_, _**CP2girls**_, _**Tears and Rage**_, _**cHoCoLaTe-RuM**_, _**HawksHockeyAdamBanksVL9337**_, and _**mysterious victoria**_. It means so much, guys.

:D

Perhaps it's better to say that this is a collection of thoughts and days and defining moments of a Dani-Day rather than... well, a full-sized 'OMG SHE ACTUALLY POSTED AGAIN!'.

Read and Review? (:

**Chapter 26 ****- Dreams of Death And... Other Things**

_I __was born on January 13th, 1921. My mama had migrated to America when she was 19; she became a part of the Nurse Corps because of her father, who was a surgeon, and she stayed with the profession after the War was over. She met my papa while nursing; he was serving in the Great War and married my mama while he was on leave after basic before he was shipped off to do battle. _

_All I remembered of my papa was that he did not speak much, except to Mama. You could tell they loved each other, though. You could tell. My baby brother, Gery, was born in 1927, despite the fact that the doctor had advised my mama not to give birth to him, since it wasn't known whether or not he would be alive or not. My mama gave birth anyway; Gery was alive, but we later found out he had Down syndrome._

**...**

**January 1, 1945:**

"I miss gahdamn tables." Buck muttered to himself as they searched for a reaaaally large rock to rest the map on while they examined our position of occupying another position which happened to overlook a town by the name of Foy. Our side wanted that town.

"Use Malarkey," I advised with a wink. "He has a really hard head."

"Hard head, you say," Buck mused, rubbing his chin with one finger, his bright blue eyes twinkling.

"Yes, suh!" I grinned. "Like a mahogany table, suh."

"Mahogany?"

"The best, suh."

"Hey, Malarkey! Get your ass over here!" He called to a certain ginger.

Malarkey came trotting over, perhaps hoping to be assigned to some noble task.

"We're gonna use you for a table. Kneel."

"Wha-?" Malark protested, then he looked at me. "Oh."

"Cheer up, Malark," I winked cheerfully for the second time in three minutes. "It's not the end of the world. Come on. Kneel."

"It's alright, Bill, I found something." Buck said to Bill, who was shaking his head as he walked up.

"Oy, when'd you get here?" Bill asked me.

"Why, just now, Sarge." I blinked at him innocently.

Skip and Penkala came waltzing up behind Sarge Lipton as Buck got the map situated, and they leaned over to look as they smoked a single cigarette between the two of them and we, a happy little party ourselves, watched Lip and Buck find the log route that we were-

"-Which means we get right there." Buck playfully jabbed the map especially hard.

"Hey! Take it easy!" Malark said indignantly.

"Stop crying, Malark, or I'll nail it to your head." Buck replied as he looked over the woods. I could hear the tremors in his voice; we all had them, we were all out in the ghastly cold.

"You should, it's made of wood." Bill retorted. I began to laugh.

"Guarnere, move 'em out, let's go!" Buck ordered as Lip folded the map and tucked it back underneath his non-winter jacket. We all stood to our feet to march off like the good ol' American soldiers we were.

"Yes, sir. Second Platoon, let's go!"

At least we were moving, instead of huddling down in our foxholes. At least we weren't quite so surrounded. At least.

I chuckled again at the thought of Malarkey's head being wood. That was before I heard my name. Craning my magnificent ears, I heard it again.

"-And that Dani. The broad wouldn't look so bad if only she would grow her hair out and... well, you know. Whatever the hell else women do."

How the hell was I supposed to grow my hair out? How the fuck was I supposed to act like a lady on a battleground? I was a medic, gahdamn it, and if you said something to me, I could quite easily forget to inject you with some morphine, in the odd case that you got hit.

Bastards.

**...**

My legs were stiff; partly from the cold, partly from walking in the cold all frigging day, and partly because I hadn't moved them quite so much after I had sat down, fresh from walking all frigging day.

I, the smartass, managed to dig my foxhole mostly from a sitting-down position and when I finally finished the damn thing, I practically collapsed into it. Ah, well. It'd save me the trouble of doing it the next day.

"Dani, are you cold?"

"George, are you cold?"

"No, whatever would make you think that?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the shivers."

I found I was happy when he climbed down next to me and enveloped my nearly-quivering form in his arms.

"George, is it just me or has it gotten colder?"

"I think it's just you, Dani."

It wasn't just me.

**...**

**January 2, 1945:**

"Dani. Dani." A whispering voice broke in through my senses, penetrating my beauty sleep dreams.

"Nnnngh."

"Dani."

Dani is beginning to think the voice is irritating. I thought to my own self. The sonofabitch is persistent. And irritating. Oh, wait. I already said that. WELL, IT'S IRRITATING.

"Dani. You still have that lighter?"

"Wuh liher?"

"That lighter that you had in Holland, you know, the one Luz stole one morning."

"Oh." I woke up a little more, rubbing my eyes a bit. "So you were in on that. Yeah, I have it."

"Can I-"

"Two steps ahead of you, buddy." I was already reaching for the pocket containing it. "Just let me go back to my fucking dreams, 'kay?"

"Geezus, Dani, I never thought you were that kind of-"

"You know what I meant." I growled, handing him the lighter and nestling back down into the hole next to the still-asleep George Luz. Mmm.

"Have good fucking dreams, Dani," Bill chuckled. "We all know who you're-"

Zzzzzzzz.

"MEEDDDDIIIIICCCCCC!"

CAN'T A GIRL GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE! GEEEEEZUS!

**...**

He awoke to a cold embrace where a warm form should have been resting. Her arms should still be wrapped around his torso, her body shifting slightly to fill the few empty spaces between their bodies. But she was gone.

He sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair and closing his eyes for one more moment before rolling to his feet and climbing out of the foxhole. She was running herself to exhaustion; he could see it, everyone except for her could see it.

She refused to acknowledge she had a weakness of any kind, any shape or form. She was stubborn, obstinate, and strong. She was Dani.

He raised his head to look around. He had never seen a girl who could run quite so fast, never seen a woman be quite so strong, never wanted someone in his arms quite so much, never feared someone quite as potently.

There was another scream for a medic, and he knew that was where she would be, trying to get there before something else happened to the poor man who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He also knew he needn't look for her; she would probably seek him out soon enough, trying to find some sort of comforting object without ever admitting to herself or anyone else that she needed comforting.

He was only lucky that she had chosen him as one of the comforters. He knew there were men who wouldn't mind having a thing with Dani. No, they wouldn't mind at all. Most of them simply knew that Dani was not to be messed with. If you made her angry or upset, first she messed you up and then, God forbid, the rest of the Toccoa men found out, and then they would mess you up as well.

She was so protective of the men, she had forgotten to be protective of herself.

"George Luz," she would have said if she could hear his thoughts, "it's none of your fucking business."

**...**

The call for a medic that I had heard took me to the direct edge of our encampment. A replacement named Brown had gotten shot in the arm. We got him bandaged up and ready to go to the aid station. I reported it to my jolly little Liebgott, who reported it to everyone else via radio. I was heading back to my foxhole when the cry came again, from the other side of our little foxhole village.

"MMMMEEEEEEDDDDDIIIIICCCCCC!"

**...**

Hoobs had been shot.

The way Christenson had told the story, Hoobs, Christenson, and - awh, fuck, what was that replacement's name - Hashey had been out on a patrol or some such shit. A Kraut officer had either decided to take his horse for a spin or was on official business. Either way, they had a little meet'n'greet, and the Kraut turned tail - literally - to run off, but Hoobs shot him; shot him good, shot him dead.

The Kraut had a Luger.

We all knew that Hoobs had wanted a Luger since before we'd launched for Normandy. But Lugers didn't have safeties and Hoobs didn't have a holster.

It went off in his back pocket, ejecting into his thigh and severing a major artery. I couldn't get there in time; even if I had, it probably wouldn't have made any difference. He was dead before they got him to the aid station.

I trudged back to my foxhole and sat down numbly. Hoobs was the most happy-go-lucky of us all. If something could happen to him-

"Hey, Dani, come-" George stopped in his tracks when he saw my face. "You okay?"

My lips struggled to form the words.

"Hoobs - he, uh. He got shot."

"Geezus, he gonna be okay?"

"He's dead, George. He's dead."

Saying the words didn't seem to make it any more real. My brain said I could have done something, but reason said I couldn't have done anything that Doc didn't do.

FUCK IT, PEOPLE, STOP DYING!

**...**

The new position seemed to be somehow worse, except for the fact that we weren't surrounded quite yet. Our 'CO' kept disappearing; Dike, the Phantom, seemed to like to walk off. This would be fine, except for the other fact that... oh, yeah, we're on the fucking front line and you are not supposed to walk off and leave your men sitting there like frozen ducks!

When he was there, he wasn't even much of a CO. In fact, as a CO, he was like a bomb falling on water; completely useless. His commands were bogus and his communication skills lacking. He was an awkward talker, an undisciplined combat leader, a worthless good-for-nothing in the army.

It was a decided and agreed-upon fact that he had connections high up.

I had once seen him yawning late in the afternoon after we hadn't seen him all fucking morning. After that, I hated him and had even gone to the point in one of my beauty-sleep-I-have-body-heat-because-George-Luz-has-made-it-his-personal-nightly-priority-to-keep-me-warm dreams of writing a mental letter;

_My dear sir;_

_I'm assuming, since you are now reading this, you are the motherfucker who assigned Lieuteniant Norman Dike to us._

_Fuck you._

_Smiley face._

_Yours truly,_

_Sergeant Dani Shoemaker, Medic._

I even had a little nickname for the man.

**...**

A few of us were having a little tea-time chat. You know, sitting around, shooting the shit.

"I'm telling you, boys-" Bill began to say.

"-And girl." I corrected him. He ignored me, the bastard.

"-We're screwed."

"If you ask me, I'm glad Lieuteniant Dike's never around." Penkala commented.

Malarkey, the optimist, had to put in his own two cents.

"Hey, you know what? We're doing alright, even with..."

"Foxhole Norman." I put in. It was the perfect description of Dike; he was a very foxhole-ish type of person.

"Yeah, Don, we're doing alright." Bill retorted. "We're doing alright now. In case you ain't noticed, there's a little town down the hill over there, right? And in that town are these guys, and these guys are called Germans; these Germans got tanks-"

"I knowww." Malarkey said with the world-weary voice of someone who has heard this lecture from this man on this subject before.

"Yeah! And our side's going to want to go into that town." Bill griped. "Wanna take one guess at who they're gonna want to go knocking on the gahdamn doors?"

"I know, Bill, alright, it's me you're talking to here."

"Geezus." Bill must have been having a bad day, since I didn't remember him being so bitchy. "We got to do all this with a CO who's got his head so far up his fucking ass that lump in his throat is his gahdamn nose."

"Hey, rousing speech, Bill. What next, you gonna give a graduation lecture at Misery Ville?"

"Shut your yap, Dani."

"Heeeeeeey, First Sergeant!" Muck greeted Lip rather awkwardly.

"Hey, boys."

"Why does no one say 'girl'?"

"Rousing speech, Dani." Bill echoed.

"Shut your yap, Bill." I retorted.

Suddenly, this was funny.

"Hey, Muck, what's the word?" Lip asked.

"Oh, you know, sitting around freezing our asses off, singing Dike's praises."

"Oh, yeah." Lipton muttered, almost as if he didn't like to be reminded. "Lieuteniant Dike..." Silence for a moment. "Well," Lip began, swinging his rifle down from his shoulder and slowly sitting down like an old man into his easy chair, "I'll tell you, I wouldn't wanna be a replacement officer, coming here; get thrown in with a group of guys who've known each other for what, two years? Had been in combat together since Normandy, and he's supposed to just show up and lead them? I mean, how's a guy do that? How could anyone really hope to gain the respect of the toughest, most professional, most dedicated sons of bitches in the entire ETO? Huh?"

Bill gave us all amused glances. It was a rather fitting description.

"So if you ask me," Lip continued, "a guy'd have to march off to Berlin and come back with Hitler's moustache or something." We chuckled; Bill heh-heh-heh-heh'd. "Hey, listen; you guys don't worry 'bout Dike. Alright?"

"Yeah," Malarkey, the encouraging chorus man, said.

"We all do our jobs, everything'll be fine." He patted Bill's knee and stood up like an old man getting out of his easy chair.

"See you, Sarge." Muck's clear voice piped up.

"Yeah, boy." He replied as he walked off.

Lipton's little speech almost made me like Dike and want to give him a second shot; that is, until I caught him yawning again.

But that was Lip for you; he walked around, in the same state as we were, and yet he managed to find a way to see the positive side. Sometimes I wondered how he could possibly think positively when he was in the same position as I was.

It wasn't until later that I realized; Lip was probably pulling something out of his butt and holding tight to it because he thought it was about as hopeless as we did, but he just couldn't say so to the men.

If he had said so to the men, he wouldn't have been Carwood Lipton.

**...**

"I'm serious." Buck practically growled.

"Sure thing, Buck. Nothing stupid. We got it." Penkala assured him. "Right?" He nudged Skip rather firmly.

"We got it." Skip repeated, nodding, but whether it was from the cold or his affirmation of Buck's request, I couldn't tell.

"Alright." Then he looked at us. "George?"

George looked up at him with a very cold but angelic smile.

"Nothing stupid, Buck." I could practically hear the shivers in his voice and I realized that my biting down on my tongue to control my own shivering had made my tongue go numb. Shit.

"Dani?" Buck said.

"I'm a mmedic, Buck. I gotta be ssstupid to be a mmedic." I retorted, attempting to put a leash on the stuttering-from-lack-of-warmth, but I was only half-successful. He just looked at me. "Nothing ssstupid." I whispered, finally nodding.

"Yeah." He murmured, giving us one solemn look before he stood and walked away to another foxhole. He knew we couldn't keep those promises any more than we could stop Dike from being a useless CO.

"Don't do anything stupid?" Penkala said once he was gone. "Who's he talking to? A bunch of morons who volunteered to jump out of a perfectly good airplane. Can you get any more stupid than that?"

"Probably not." Luz replied.

"Right."

"I swum across the Niagra once." Skip said. Luz started laughing silently. "I swear. On a bet."

"What, in a barrel?" George asked. I grinned when Skip glanced at Penkala and then back at George. Penkala started snickering.

"No. Gah. I didn't go over the falls, George. I swam across the river. 10 miles up from the falls. I tell you, that current is damn strong. Musta carried me at least 2 miles downstream before I got across, but! I got across! Now personally, I didn't think it was all that stupid, but uh, my mom, my sister Ruth? Pshew. They gave me all kindsa hell."

"Yeah, I bet, Muck." Luz said.

"So did Faye." Skip added, a dreamy look coming into his eyes.

"Ahhh, sweet Faye Tanner." Luz sighed, grinning at Muck's weakness.

"Shut it, George." Muck knocked him with his knee.

"Well," Penkala said. "They had a point. You're an idiot."

No one could really argue with that one. George looked over at me when I shifted around slightly.

"Dani. You cold?"

I turned my face to him, holding back the shivers that were almost engulfing me. I could feel the cold, oh, how I could feel the cold. I could practically sense my flesh turning rock hard.

"I'm-m j-just fine, George." ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, GEORGE LUZ, I'M COLDER THAN I'VE EVER FUCKING BEEN AND I CAN'T EVEN TALK FUCKING STRAIGHT, OF COURSE I'M NOT COLD!

He gave me one look, then lifted an arm and I gratefully shifted over to curl up next to him, finding some comfort in the fact that one side wasn't as cold as it had been. Plus, it was George Luz who I was sharing body chill with, despite the fact he hadn't shaved since we had arrived in Bastogne.


	27. 7: Great Minds Think Alike

**A/N: **My dearest, dearest peoples._**Tears and Rage, mysterious victoria, AivieEnchanted, Ryuu Miyori**__, _and _**CP2girls**__;_ thank you! For helping me get through the week. I'm not quite sure how I would make it without you guys. Every single word you guys send me is like a great biiig hug... and not one of those creepy hugs, either.

Anyways.

I know this one's short, but I wanted to get this out before you got too mad at me for delaying past my deadline.

Read and Review? (:

**Chapter 27**** - Great Minds Think Alike**

_The broad wouldn't look so bad if only she would grow her hair out and... well, you know. Whatever the hell else women do._

I awoke to discover I was very, very angry. The bastard had no right. He was being unfair. But the thing that made me the angriest? He was entirely right, and the fact that he was right made me even more mad.

Silently climbing out of the foxhole, careful not to disturb George, I began to hunt through my bag.

_Nope._ My little brain said to my brilliant self. _Dani, you never cease to amaze me._

Finally, I found the one item I was hunting for; the one item that I had forgotten I had brought. It also happened to be the one item I hadn't really had a use for. I'll give you a hint: everyone had one, but nobody was using it in Bastogne. Except...

I went off into the woods to do my business with this particular item, coming back feeling somewhat more cold than I had felt when I had left. By the time I had returned to my foxhole, George was gone and the ground was cold. I had juuust put The Item back in my bag when I heard a voice behind me.

"-You wouldn't happen to have a razor, would you?"

"No, sir, 'fraid not."

Looking behind me, I saw Cpt. Winters talking to Johnny Martin. Winters looked about as desperate as I had ever seen Winters look.

"Dani, you wouldn't happen to have a razor, would you?" He asked.

I blinked.

Shit.

He must be _desperate._

"Yes, sir."

His shoulders _almost_ sagged with relief.

I dug it back out again, handing it to him with some reluctance. I was used to not getting things back if I lent them to someone, particularly a man.

Winters, seeing the look, said:

"You can come wait for it if you want."

Oh, the relief.

"Great minds think alike, sir." I said, standing up to walk to where his shaving cream was. "Great minds think alike."

**...**

Someone high up decided to make a few officers happy and send them home on a month-long furlough for a few weeks to get some support for the war bond drive going.

How did I know this before everyone else? I was standing there.

I, conveniently, had to lend The Item - razor - to Winters. I neglected to tell him, of course, that I had just recently used it on my legs, since he was so women-shy and would probably blush or stutter or some other embarassingly shy mannerism.

You learn these things after living with someone for roughly two and a half years.

Cap'n Nix came strolling up, looking as though he had just awoken from some seriously beautiful sleep. I didn't see how; he wasn't sleeping next to George Luz. Or at least, as far as I knew.

"Morning."

"Lew. Eviction notice?" Winters asked, nodding to the paper Nix was holding.

"Not quite, but I think I got something that'll help you with your leadership problem."

"Ah... Dike's being transferred?" Winters asked hopefully, stopping the fascinating movements of shaving his face clean of shaving cream.

_My dearest Dani, I do believe he has forgotten that you're standing here._

"No, I can't help you with that. But Division's decided to pluck one officer from each regiment that had served in the heroic defence of Bastogne, send him back to the States on a 30-day furlough, get him up banging the drum for the war bond drive and that kind of thing. Turns out I've been plucked."

"Hey, that's fantastic, Lew; good for you."

"Thank you." Nix said with a rich-man smirk, as if it was an accomplishment that he was to be proud of.

"How in the world does your leaving help me?"

"It doesn't. I'm not going." The smirk was still in place. Nix's genius smirk was still in place. Some lightbulb must have magically turned on and he was randomly struck by an inspiration of such epic proportions that everyone and everyone else would be delighted by the epicness of it all. "I've already seen the States; I grew up there. That's why I came to Europe. I just wish they'd told me there was a war on. Anyway, the point is this thing's wasted on me."

_OOOOOOOH, I GET IT!_ I was temporarily tempted to raise my hand and ask for permission to tell Winters _exactly_ what was going through Nix's devious little (evil) mind, but no. It turned out I didn't need to.

Nix finally glanced over Winter's shoulder and saw the smile forming on my face.

"Dani, would you do the honors?" He gestured, as if asking me to break a bottle of champion, dubbing a ship or some crazy rich shit like that.

"I'm sure you could find some officer somewhere in this battalion who could use a long trip home, sir," I told him. Nix winked at me as Winters thought about it for a moment and smiled as well.

"See, that's why I like Dani; she's smart! And as I always say, Dick; great minds think alike."

Winters gave me a mildly amused smile. I could see that our minds were currently on the same track and we were both remembering my use of the phrase earlier that day - not thirty minutes before, in fact.

"Why, thank you, sir. I'd no idea you were quite so fond of me."

_Of course, now I can always blame Nix for my evil and devious little mind._

**...**

Peacock, the bastard, thought that we were sending him home because he was such a fucking great leader. None of us burst his happy bubble; it was too much trouble and besides, it was hilarious to behold the sight of Peacock blushing like a schoolgirl and grinning while everyone said 'glad you're home, you're such a hell of a guy, Peacock, great chap.'

You see what I mean?

Everyone managed to save their evil-laughing for after the event during which the Jeep containing Peacock drove off through the snow.

Hip hip hooray.

**...**

There was a camera going around the encampment, filming some reels to assure the people back home that we were okay, or some shit like that. Either way, we were expected to 'smile for the camera' and look happy, as if there wasn't an ache in our bellies for something other than rancid beans, as if we had proper winter clothing, as if we were properly supplied, as if, as if, as if. As if.

The camera came unexpectedly, in my case. Once word got out that there was a girl in Easy Company, they kept trying to find and film me. Someone said something about a girl on the front would make the women back home more sympathetic and they might give the way more money and effort.

Be that as it may, I didn't like the thought of being filmed for everyone in the States to see. Who the fuck cared if there was a girl? There were hundreds of men serving in the exact same place as that exact same girl, going through the exact same thing she was... shouldn't they get the exact same response? It was all bullshit.

We all slip up. I heard a familiar husky voice talking from where I was standing in the food line with George. My ears perked up and I straightened from where I was trying to conserve body heat by hunching over.

"-feel about being rescued by Patton? Well, I'd feel pretty peachy about it, if it wasn't for one thing. We didn't need to be fucking rescued by Patton. Got that?"

Damn ri - JOE? JOE FUCKING TOYE?

I craned my neck around, forgetting the very existance of the invention of a film reel and shoving my plate into a conveniently person-standing-next-to-me's hand. Winters was pulling Joe Toye away from some fucker who had been talking to him. Respectfully, I waited (or tried to) for Winters to nod and walk away.

I only got to the nodding part.

Digging my boots into the snow to get what purchase I could, I ran towards Joe and practically tackled him.

"Joe Toye, you little fucker, you never did give me a Christmas present."

"Geezus, Dani, I missed you too." He retorted sarcastically.

"I know, I'm just that adorable."

Joe had been gone for three days; the bastard just couldn't seem to stop getting hit.

We began walking back to the place the awful stench was coming fr - oh, that was the food. It did smell magnificent, didn't it?

"Heya, Joe." Bill said with a warm smile as he shook Joe's hand. It was one of the few times I had seen Bill smile - truly smile - in a few days. Maybe he had been too cold. "Good to see you, pal."

"You too."

"Yeah, Bill, you too." I chimed in. He barely even spared me a glance.

"The hell you doing back here?"

"Had to make sure you were on top of things."

"We were on top of things." Bill replied. I could feel a joke coming. It was in the air. "I tied my own boots once last week; all by meself." They chuckled together as we walked over to the food line. Now that Joe was back and still mildly wounded, we could cut in line. "Hey, fellas, look who I found!"

"Heeeeeeeeeeeeey, Joe Toye, back for more!" Skip called, as if he hadn't seen Joe in - well, three days.

"All right, Joe?" Penk asked from his vantage point right in front of Muck in the food line. Ooh, that was a dangerous place to be.

"Yeah, doing pretty good." Joe replied. "Escaped from the aid station."

This was all happening as we inconspicuously cut in front of them. Of course, nobody minded, since Joe had just gotten back from the aid station and was, once again, an official hero of the I-Got-Hit-And-Yet-My-Wounded-Ass-is-Back Association.

"Where'd you get hit," asked one of those kids who I had never laid eyes on.

"What's _that_?" Joe asked, glancing at the replacement in part-confusion, part don't-you-know?

"Eh. Webb. Replacement." Skip clarified,

"Really? Thought it was some guy I'd known for two years and forgot his face." Joe asked sarcastically.

"HEY! WHO TOOK MY PLATE?" I yelled.

"Dani."

"Oh. Hi, George."

"He got hit in the arm. New Year's Eve gift from Luftwaffe." Skip explained to Webb as George and I went to stand somewhere and eat.

"Geezus," Joe, the newest Chorus Man of the Day, said.

"A lot of you guys been injured?"

"It's called wounded, peanut." Johnny Martin kindly interjected in his usual tough-ass way. "Injured's when you fall out of a tree or something."

"Don't worry." Muck said to Webb comfortingly. "There's enough crap flying around here, you're bound to get dinged sometime. Almost every single one of these guys've been hit at least once. Except for Alley. He's a two-timer. He landed on broken glass in Normandy _and_ got peppered by a potato-masher in Holland."

"You'll find out, son." Alley promised Webb, who simply looked away quickly.

_Or at least... I __**think**__ this is supposed to be comforting..._

"Now, Bull, he got a piece of exploding tank in Holland." Muck continued, pointing downwards to where Bull was sitting on the ground like a cool kid. "George Luz here... has never been hit." He shoved a finger in George's chest a few times in contemplation of all the times George _could_ have gotten hit. "You're one lucky bastard."

"Takes one to know one, Skip." George retorted, taking another bite from whatever-the-hell-we-had-been-served.

"Yeah, consider us blessed. Dani here ain't so lucky. She's been hit twice; first, it was her ear in Normandy, and then somehow, Dani managed to catch a piece of exploding building in her leg."

"Preach it," I snarked, waiting for the jokes to come showering in while Skip patted me on the back, shook his head, and finally moved on down the Wounded List.

"Yeah, Dani. How _do_ you get a piece of building in your leg?" George asked, nudging me.

"It's the luck of the Irish."

"You're not Irish."

"But no one else here knows that."

He just looked at me a moment, with his big dark eyes. He just looked at me. And I discovered that all words had - hopefully temporarily - abandoned me.

It's funny, that words have a way of doing that. They just leave you, right in the cold.

Speaking of which.

"George, are you warm?"

"Toasty, Dani."

**January 3, 1945:**

Some fucker high up wanted us to go back to our oldddd position, overlooking Foy. This was bound to be an adventure, since everyone could tell that we wanted Foy.

Any guesses on who they're going to send to take the town?

A few "lucky" men got to watch the line, or some shit like that. All I knew was that men kept giving the three men we were passing (who were, ironically, dug into am unprotected foxhole) evil smiles, and perhaps a few comments.

Speirs wasn't particularly terrifying... to me, anyway. Maybe that was because I had seen him with his mother. To everyone else, he was like a bolt of lightning; no one wants it to hit them and yet its presence is rather awe-inspiring.

In any case, Speirs actually_ did_ his job. The story grows as it passes from man to man; someone just can't keep his mouth shut and finally exaggerates it until it becomes one of those things that you simply aren't supposed to believe yet you do anyway.

**...**

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! YOU GOTTA BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!" Joe Toye yelled from where he had just jumped into his former foxhole. "Someone's gonna die. SOMEONE'S GONNA FUCKING DIE! GUARNO, LOOKA THIS SHIT! ONE OF THOSE 1ST BATTALION FUCKERS TOOK A DUMP IN MY FOXHOLE!"

"I think they shit in everyone's foxhole, Joe." Bill replied, looking around. "I don't think they wanted to spend much time above ground."


	28. 7: Breaking Points

A/N: I'd like to give praise to the amazing: _**AivieEnchanted, Ryuu Miyori, EmmyMK, Intersec, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, CP2girls, orchid121,and Tears and Rage**_. You guys are simply phenomenal, and you're pretty much the only reason I'm updating even now. If not for you guys, I would literally never update again, just to avoid having to write this part. *sob*

Please, please, Read and Review? I NEED THE ENCOURAGEMENT! Dx I feel like I've lost one of my best friends.

**Chapter 28 ****- Breaking Points**

_When I was eight years old, my mama died of tuberculosis and my happy life changed. My papa seemed to go mad. He started drinking a lot and he was never home; when he was, he wouldn't so much as look at me or Gery. Then, one day, he was killed by a car as he crossed the street. My young mind had no doubt that he had done so intoxicated and that it was entirely his fault._

_Gery went to live with my Aunt Angeline, my father's sister, but she couldn't afford to care for two young children, so she sent me off to Germany to live with my Opa, my mother's father. He was the surgeon of the family; the one that had influenced her to become a nurse._

_My Opa wasn't much better off than Aunt Angie, although on the outside, he had everything together. He already had my mama's sister, my Aunt Ada (short for Adelhaida), and her two sons; my cousins._

**January 3, 1945:**

The lonely trees that were not shattered or fallen stretched up to reach the barren sky, or where the sky must have been once upon a time. Now, there was no place for a sky. All that was left was an ashen gray stretch with the hopes torn out of where they had once been placed. And to be completely honest, there weren't that many completely untouched trees left.

Brush was everywhere. You couldn't seem to put your foot somewhere without snapping a bunch of twigs.

The Germans had come a-shelling.

"Light and noise discipline," someone called, "we're getting close."

_Yeah, no shit, you fucker._

We had a nice little position overlooking the snow-laden town of Foy, enabling us to set up our lawn chairs and just peer across the stretch of field lying between them and us.

"Heeey, Dani."

"Bill," I replied, shooting him a quick glance as he came trudging up beside me, slowing down to match my own meandering pace.

"I, ah, forgot to give somethin' back to you." He fished a shiny object out of his pocket and handed it to me.

It was Geoff's lighter.

"Thanks, Bill."

I was surprised he had even bothered to return it.

The Krauts knew we had taken this position. There were men in little white uniforms screaming in their native language and running for cover, in case, you know, we decided to rain hell down on them with equipment we didn't have.

Of course, hopefully, they wouldn't realize that we didn't have it, or any of the other supplies necessary.

"Hey, Bill, any word?"

"On what?" 

"Anything."

"Nope. Ask the fucking radioman."

We couldn't see any artillery, but we knew it was there. Otherwise, we wouldn't be hiding out in a pile of sticks and reinforcing our foxholes with trees.

They were only waiting for us to reoccupy the position.

**...**

The sound of another branch dragging along the ground filled my ears as I kneeled in my recently-cleaned-out foxhole, reinforcing the cover.

"Another branch, Dani."

"Thanks, George. I think that's all I need."

"Where do you want this one, then?"

Suddenly, I heard a sound that took me a moment to place - a boom, followed by a very loud _pop_ noise. I hesitated for one second too long, uncertain if my mind was correct. I had to be wrong; I _hoped_ I was wrong.

"George... GEORGE, GET DOW-"

An earth-shattering sound filled my ears as he almost simultaneously dived down on top of me. My body began to shake as the earth sprayed up around us. I saw Sarge Lipton dash by, yelling to take cover.

Needing reassurance that he was there, I wrapped my arms around George and he, in turn, pulled my head into his chest, turning me so my back was against the ground and his head above mine, bending over me as though he was trying to protect me.

It seemed to last forever. Suddenly, it ceased and silence reigned, sinking heavily into our ears with the promise of danger still looming.

"Dani," George's voice whispered. I opened my eyes to find that somehow, sometime during that eternity of terror, a tree had fallen nearby, almost covering our foxhole completely with the utmost top. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I replied quietly, not quite believing it. "At least I won't have to reinforce our foxhole anymore."

We slowly moved to the small opening the tree had left, lifting our heads above the surface of the ground. I somehow doubted that everyone was okay after the barrage we had just been bombarded by.

Somewhere nearby, I heard Malark's voice saying; "Maybe we should see if anybody's hit."

"Nah, Malark," Bill replied, "that's what they want. Krauts are trying to draw us out in the open."

"Stay in your foxholes!" Sarge Lipton's voice cried, "STAY IN YOUR FOXHOLES!" He wasn't following his own orders as he dashed around to find the men who were still unprotected by a foxhole, helping them to safety and -

There was a voice calling out unlegible words, too far away for me to make out what the man was trying to say.

"You hear that?" Malark asked.

"That Joe?" Bill raised his voice, as if hoping that Joe would hop out of the destruction and say something about how it was so fucking not him.

"Yeah, I think that's Joe," Malark's voice almost broke as he tried not to believe that Joe was in serious danger, or had already been harmed, or some other catastrophy. I couldn't believe it. Joe. I began to clamber out of the foxhole, but Bill's eyes caught mine and he shook his head.

"Stay," Bill ordered Malark and I before he abruptly climbed out of his foxhole and began to dash off into the fog. I sank back into the foxhole, knowing that if I followed Bill, it would be for nothing and Bill would kill me afterwards for not following his instruction. Joe had never cried 'medic', and unless he did that, I would have to assume that he did not need one, and wait for some other poor unfortunate soul to cry that exact same plea for help. I wanted to go to Joe - oh, how I wanted to make sure he was all right - but I couldn't. As a medic, I was supposed to stay where I was, ready to help someone if they needed it. If I was injured then who would fill my shoes?

George looked at me, his dark eyes flickering in sympathy. He somehow understood what I was feeling. I'm not sure how long we sat there in tense silence before the dreaded cry came again.

"INCOMING!"

The second barrage didn't seem to last as long as the first one had. Bill had been right; they were only trying to kill off the ones who got out of their foxholes to see if their friends were okay.

It didn't take us quite so long to poke our heads out of the foxhole this time.

"LIP!" George yelled and, looking over, I realized Lip was in a foxhole not far from ours.

"YOU OKAY?" Lip inquired.

George gave him a thumbs-up. Lip began to look around once again. I saw the sight that made me truly, honestly _detest_ our CO for the first time.

He came practically crawling up behind Lipton, dark circles underneath his eyes as if he had not been getting the amount of beauty sleep he was used to, his helmet missing, his hair not as dirty as ours, no gear on his back, what looked to be a proper winter coat, and a scarf.

"First Sergeant Lipton," he said, his voice more squeaky and high-pitched than ever. "You get things organized here. I'm going to go for help." He pointed over his shoulder and, without so much as waiting for Lip's response, he turned tail and ran away from us. He turned tail and ran from anywhere his direction and leadership was needed, anywhere he might be called upon to be a man; anywhere his duty required him to be. He turned tail and _ran_.

"What th' fuuuck." George and I muttered at the same time, staring in disbelief.

With an unreadable expression, Lip climbed out of his foxhole and ran over to ours.

"Lip," George said quickly, "where the fuck's he going?"

"I dunno. Listen, get Battalion on the line, tell them to notify BAS."

"Battalion's up, Lip," George turned to his radio, flashing me a quick glance to make sure I was all right.

"Looks like I was wrong," I muttered, automatically clutching at my medic bag.

"How's that?"

"Apparently, Foxhole Norman didn't like his foxhole after all. We should have put some furniture in there, made him real comfy."

I wasn't sure what the fuck I was saying. I was so nervous, so uptight, so high-strung, I needed to do something and if talking was it, then I was going to talk and talk and talk and talk and -

"MEEEDDDDIIIIICCC!" Buck's strong voice rang out over all the others. Without waiting a second, I plunged out of the foxhole and ran as hard, as fast, as quickly as I could.

I wasn't prepared for the sight that lay in front of me.

Red blood was seeping into the white snow, staining the purity with its unforgiving harshness of the promise that there was a possibility the donor may not make it through. Bill and Joe lay there, in a tumble of legs and arms, making it almost impossible to tell them apart, let alone if either of them were alive. Neither were moving. Buck stood over them, an immovable statue of flesh turned into stone, his helmet lying on the ground from where it had dropped out of his limp hand. His usually sparkling eyes seemed lifeless; dead.

I heard footsteps hurry, then skid to a halt right next to me. Looking over, I exchanged glances with Roe, and we set to work in a hurry, pulling the two apart and beginning to work on them seperately. Within moments, they were conscious.

Joe had his entire right leg blown off from about three to four inches above the knee and was groaning as Doc did his best to bandage it. Bill, only a few feet away, was clutching at the upper part of his right leg; the other part, the bottom, had suffered through God knows what. The flesh and muscles seemed to have been completely torn away from his leg, leaving the bone in clear, plain sight. The bone itself didn't even have a chance of being repaired; it was broken, fractured, splintered, a sickening sight to see. He was silent but shaking violently; most of the tremors were coming from his leg. I wasn't sure if it was from the cold, shock, or simply pain. I just wasn't sure.

I couldn't believe it; I could believe that this, _this_ had happened to two of our best soldiers, two of the toughest sons of bitches in the entire Army.

What the hell would happen to the rest of us?

I expected to wake up, from a dream, a nightmare, a daze. I expected to hear Bill's laughter and see Joe's face bearing its usual Geezus-I'm-fine expression.

I never did. I never woke up.

Malark came up, kneeling beside Joe and setting his gun down quickly.

"Doc, what can I do-"

"Hold this-"

"You got a smoke?" Joe asked Malark. With a quick, violent flap of the arm, Malark jerked off his glove and retrieved his pack of Lucky Strikes.

"Geezus," Joe said with a painful smile through his wince," what's a guy gotta do to get killed around here?"

"Bill, you goin' first." Roe told Bill. I admired Roe more than ever right then; he was calm in the midst of the storm, even though I had a feeling he was breaking up inside.

"Whatever you say, Doc, whatever you say." Bill replied, still holding on to his leg.

Men bearing stretchers came hurrying out of the white oblivion, red crosses on their helmets, Sarge Lipton following only a few feet behind. Quickly, I pulled out my own secreted pack of Lucky Strikes and lit one up with the lighter that Bill had only returned just that day.

"Over here! Take this man," Roe instructed them, pointing quickly over to where I was still bending over Bill, guiding the cigarette to where he could grasp it firmly with his lips, his hands being otherwise occupied with his leg. If it was the only comfort that I could give him, then it would the comfort that I did not grudge him.

"Hey, Lip," Bill said with a slightly shaky voice, "they got ol' Guarnere this time."

"We got you, soldier." This, I assumed, was supposed to be comforting words to a replacement, wounded before he got a chance to experience true, palpable death, spoken by a medic who had seen wounds worse than this and seen the men survive them.

Bill began to yell as a sickening crunch could be heard when they tried to move him onto the stretcher. I found that my eyes were beginning to swim.

"'Ey, Joe," Bill said once they had gotten him onto stretcher and were beginning to carry him off, "I told you I'd beat you back to the States."

My heart broke inside of my chest. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Not Wild Bill, not untameable Wild Bill Guarnere. He was supposed to be okay; he was supposed to be the lucky bastard who kept all of his limbs without trying. And Joe... Joe was supposed to cut Hitler across the windpipe and get ten grand a year for the rest of his fucking life. They were supposed to be _okay._

Needing something to do, I turned to help Roe with the bandage on Joe's leg, but Roe shook his head, silently telling me to get back to the cover of my foxhole.

"Hey, Dani," Joe grunted, reaching into his pocket and pulling out something shiny. I was too numb to have a deja vu about Bill giving me something shiny just that morning.

It was his brass knuckles.

"Merry Christmas," he said.

"And a happy fucking New Year," I replied, taking them from him before standing to turn.

Joe groaned again, the sound harsh and grating against my ears. It seemed that single sound froze me where I stood, there in the snow.

I heard footsteps behind me, and George's voice speaking. I couldn't make out the words, despite the fact he was only a couple of feet away. There was a long, distinct pause, and then the voices spoke up again. I was jerked out of my daze when Roe looked at me and firmly said;

"Go."

A few seconds later, I felt George's hand on mine and then he was gently pulling me away, back to the hole of dirt we called shelter.

Even though I knew they weren't dead, it felt like I had lost them, and losing Guarnere and Toye was losing two of my best friends; two of my brothers.

After a few minutes of George keeping his distance and letting me have my space, I looked over at him, simply needing to see a familiar face that wasn't screwed up in pain or staring into space listlessly. Without a word, he crossed the foxhole and pulled me into his arms, comforting me as best he could in a foxhole without any words and without any hot cocoa.

**...**

Buck was pulled off the line. They said it was a bad case of trenchfoot, but we all knew that he just couldn't handle seeing Bill and Joe torn up like that. I didn't think any less of him; nobody did. Every man has a breaking point. Buck had simply reached his.

However, with Buck gone, there wasn't any possibility of Dike being moved or transferred or replaced any time soon, unless some God-sent miracle happened.

Lip seemed to be continually looking for Dike, but that was usually because he never found him in the first place.

We'd cleared the woods east of Foy and then we had the immense pleasure of clearing the woods _west_ of Foy. That was always a task everyone seemed to love but, thankfully, there was little resistance. I had the worst feeling that they were saving up all of their armor and supplies for when we, the Yanks, decided to attack Foy.

**...**

**January 10, 1945:**

It was dark, the trees' branches reaching out to wrap us in their spiny embraces. The fog was still, as ever, in place, but not as dense as usual, to the point that the area was lit softly by the moon. It was snowing, the white snowflakes dancing around our helmets and descending down to the ground.

"You fellas know I ain't got no reason to bullshit you, right?" George asked, his voice hushed but warm and sardonic.

"Yeah, _right_." Muck replied sarcastically and we all laughed quietly.

"Okay, I'm not gonna bullshit you. This is what I saw." George continued, brushing off the unplanned interruption of Muck's. "It was so unbelieveable, you might not believe me. So you-know-who comes running up to Lipton. He's got no helmet, no gear, no nothing." He imitated Dike's voice. "'Uh, 1st Sergeant Lipton, you organize things here, and I'm gonna go for... help? I need to go polish my Oakleaf clusters.' So then Dani turns to me, and she says: 'Apparently Foxhole Norman didn't like his fucking foxhole after all. We shoulda put some furniture in there, made him real comfy.'" I elbowed him, his impression of me was so damn horrible.

"You make me sound like a turkey." I mumbled to him.

"Hey, Luz, Shoemaker." Lip called us over from where he had probably heard everything Luz and I had just said, even as Muck titled Dike with the title he shoulda been given instead of 'Foxhole Norman': Complete Asshole.

Damn right, Skip. Damn right.

"That's really good." Malarkey complimented.

George glanced backwards at Lip and then turned back to us, the expression in his eyes the typical 'I'm in trouble but it was completely worth it and the deed still amuses me because it was just that funny of a joke.'

"Fellas," he said as his farewell.

"Good night, all." Malarkey then Muck said goodnight to us. I exchanged smiles with each of them before joining George in walking towards the good Sarge Lipton.

"What can we do for ya, Sarge?"

"Two things. First, great impression of Dike, Luz."

"You think so? I thought it was a little off."

"Nah, you got it pretty good. Second, don't do it anymore. Especially the part about what he said to me. It doesn't do anybody any good, okay?"

"Yeah, I gotcha." Luz took a draw from his cigarette, the smoke billowing out from between his perfect lips into the frosty night air.

"All right." Lip nodded, hesitating. Luz and I exchanged glances, then simultaneously started fake-yawning. Lip smiled. "Wise-asses."

I saw George's grin before everything changed; his teeth glinting in the faint beams of moonlight that managed to seep through the mist, his face lit up by his good humor, his fingers expertly flicking away his cigarette to sizzle into a dying ember in the snow - the trees started exploding, the ground shaking, my ears ringing.

I took off at a dead run, ducking and holding onto my helmet instinctively as trees kept blowing into splinters right in front of me and making me change direction, finally diving into a foxhole only to realize Lip was already in it. We kept our heads down, risking a glance up every few seconds only to duck back down when a shell hit nearby.

There was a figure with dark, feathery hair lying next to our foxhole when I looked up once again.

For one terrified, heart-wrenching moment, my world turned upside-down and my stomach lurched. His arm moved then, reassuring me in the midst of the horrible blasts and explosions that he was still alive. Lip and I both leaned out of the foxhole to grab his jacket and pull him in, the ending result being him sprawled over both our laps.

"Muck and Penkala!" He screamed in both of our ears.

"What?" Lipton yelled back, not understanding.

"Muck and Penkala got hit!"

For some strange reason, my brain refused to function or believe what I was hearing.

Muck and Penkala - hit? What the fuck was George talking abou-

Then there was one right next to us, blowing the trees that had provided a shield for the foxhole away along with my helmet and I huddled down, covering my now-bare head with my hand, half-expecting to get blown to kingdom come at any second and every moment. Just as the barrage ended, and we uncovered our heads to sneak a look around, a shell landed right next to our hole and we froze, unable to move, knowing it would all be in vain.

It didn't go off.

We sat there, staring at it, waiting for death to come and sweep us off with its cold embrace, but it never did.

The shell was a dud.

Shuddering, I hid my face in George's jacket, clutching the material tightly with both of my hands without realizing it, even as he lit a cigarette, he didn't complain. Lip took the cigarette from Luz and started to smoke it.

"I thought you didn't smoke." I commented feebly.

"I don't." Lip replied.

"Uh-huh," was Luz's cryptic reply as he lit another cig for himself, sticking another one in my mouth and lighting it for me. We sat there in silence, huddled together, smoking our cigarettes. Muck and Penkala were another couple of casualties in an altogetherly too bloody war. The ones who you thought had the best chances of living were the ones who ended up getting hit, by no fault of theirs.

You begin to wonder when it's going to end; when your friends will stop dying or disappearing to the aid station and then back to the States. You begin to wonder if you're going to stay alive. You begin to expect your death, almost every day. Suddenly, when you woke up in the morning, life was infinitely more precious because you were still alive. Somehow, when you discovered that you could still move and you could still breathe, walk, listen, smell, run... you discovered that you were still carrying on.

**...**

In the morning, we couldn't find anything of Muck and Penkala, except for Muck's string of rosary beads. That was when it really hit me; they weren't ever coming back.


	29. 7: I've Been Working On The Railroad

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There's a bit of switching back and forth between POV's, so I made George's italics.

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**Chapter 29**** - I've Been Working On The Railroad**

_Everyone will have his day to die._

**...**

Lipton presented Malark with the present of Hoob's damned Luger. It helped, if only a little. I think it reminded Malark that there was more than just this battlefield; he had a family waiting for him at home, if not a wife and children then younger siblings who looked up to him and really cared if he lived or died.

It was easy to lose focus on a battlefield; you forgot about what you had at home. You let the wreckage of loss tear across your mind like a bullet through a body, mortally wounding any and all vestiges of hope.

Lip was always walking around on the line, uplifting us and keeping our morale as high as any one man could. He was always encouraging and as far as I knew, he didn't think of himself. The quality of leadership seemed to come naturally in Carwood Lipton.

I respected him more and more every single day. We all did, I think.

**...**

**January 13, 1945:**

It was no secret that we were going to be attacking the town of Foy. We had been held in reserve for the past two days.

I looked across the open field we would have to cross to get to Foy. It seemed as if I was gazing upon suicide itself. We had come all this way to risk it upon a town. Of course, Foy was crucial and war was never unrisky. The feeling of gambling my own life was not a pleasant sensation nor one that I revelled in, however.

"Dani," said George from next to me. "You ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," I replied, looking over at him for a moment, my breath visible on the air, even in the daytime.

"I've been assigned to Dike," he told me, shifting from one foot to the other, still looking out across the field.

I snorted in derision.

"Yeah, good luck with that fucker."

From my vantage point, I could see Winters giving Dike a pep talk, facing the line. Winters obviously knew as well as the rest of us; Dike was not ready for this. Hell, Dike wasn't ready to lead _practice drills._

I knew Winters; I knew that if anyone could get a point across to Dike, it would be Captain Richard Winters. I let my hopes rise as Winters asked Dike a question and Dike nodded decisively. Winters got up and walked away. Not five seconds later... Dike yawned, covering it with his leather-gloved hand. Then, he proceeded to lean forward and start rubbing his hands together as if pumping himself up for a boxing match, a chess match, or giving someone a present; _not_ preparing for taking a crucial town, where men would most likely lose their lives.

"Luz," I said, "call me a pessimist, but we're all going to die."

By the expression on his face, he quite agreed with me.

**...**

I was ready and it was almost time.

Silently, I walked up to where George was checking his equipment one last time. He glanced up at me, but didn't look away, his hands stopping what they were doing as our eyes caught and held. He stood up slowly, extending his arms out to me, and I stepped into his embrace.

"Do you love me?" His voice whispered in my ear.

"George. Why the fuck would I love you?" 

He leaned back slightly, enough to regard me and my _I'm-innocent-and-I-don't-know-what-the-hell-you're-talking-about_ visage.

"Take it seriously and tell the truth for once, you little fucker."

His eyes, despite his words, were looking as me as though I was the word, capable of breaking him and his entire spirit. I knew then; he needed to hear it. He needed something to get him through this; he needed to know that someone would really care if he bought it that day and he wouldn't be just another body in a coffin to someone in the world besides his mother.

"What is the truth, George?" 

There was silence for a moment; my ears filled with the sound of his breathing, the feel of the rising and falling of his chest. His eyes flickered, searching my face. I saw his expression change as he realized what I meant.

"Truth," he finally said, "is a concept that some fucker came up with to make things more complicated. It's when your words follow what is correct."

I couldn't remember the last time I had freed myself enough to tell the truth. It seemed every moment my chest filled with air, it expanded with more of the lies I had surrounded myself with. If I was going to die, I wanted to die knowing that I had told at least one truth in my last moments.

"Yes, George; I love you."

He brought me back fully into his arms again, tightening his hold as if I was his last lifeline. We heard the call to get ready. Reluctantly, I helped him hitch his radio to his back.

**...**

_The snow flashed underneath his feet in a white blur, an undefined but slippery object that must be ignored but yet considered._

_All he could hear was the ringing of bullets in his ear, the yelling of Lipton's voice proclaiming to _

_'keep moving forward, keep moving' and Dike's voice saying 'keep them tight, Shames!'_

_"Wait a minute, wait a minute, where's Foley?" Dike panicked. From there, it seemed to snowball. He stopped short, kneeled in the middle of the fucking white field and said, "where the hell is 1st Platoon? HOLD UP! EASY COMPANY, HOLD UP!"_

_They were supposed to keep moving. They were supposed to at least try not to die!_

_Dike turned to him and said, "Get me Foley on the radio."_

_"Sir, I think we should take cover," he said in return, moving to carry out the order, lifting the radio receiver to his ear._

_"What?" Dike asked, as if he had never heard the word before._

_"COVER-" His yell was cut off by a shell that hit nearby. Finally, it seemed as though Dike got the message, and they scrambled over to take cover - cower, in Dike's case - behind an unidentified pile of hay._

_He spoke the magic words into the radio, hoping and praying that Perco would answer quickly._

_"Six, Easy Red, go ahead," was the reply that came crackling through._

_"Easy Red, Easy Red. Stand by for the Six," he handed the receiver to Dike, who snatched it and abruptly screamed into it._

_"FOLEY! FOLEY, YOU GET BACK HERE WHERE I CAN SEE YOU, GAHDAMN IT!"_

Well, Geezus, don't take it out on my fucking radio! _He thought to himself absently as he glanced over to see Dani's face._

**...**

I was confused.

There I was, running like hell, and I hear Dike's orders to "HOLD UP, HOLD UP!"

What kind of an idiot was he?

And then, as if it wasn't bad enough, he starts yelling "FALL BACK! FALL BACK!"

We were supposed to be across most of the fucking field before they could muster their artillery, and here it was, raining down on us and killing people who didn't need to be killed!

"What are we doing, Lieuteniant?" Lip demanded as he slid in, fresh from being fired at. "Why are we stopped?"

Dike only screamed more orders to "FALL BACK! FAAALLLL BAAACKKKK!"

It was getting decidedly crowded behind the towering block of straw. Chaos reigned. No one knew what the hell was going on; Luz was speaking into the radio concentratedly, trying not to look at Dike too much. Christenson, next to me, was fuming; I could tell by the way his teeth were clenching on his lip. Lip was furious; his voice was raised and there seemed to be smoke coming out of his ears. Everyone was mad, in some shape or fashion. Me? I was furious that someone thought to put this piece of undescribable chicken shit in charge of a Company like Easy.

Un-fucking-believable.

"Lieuteniant, what's the plan?" Foley questioned, reigning in his tone to a barely-controlled, jaw-clenched growling yell.

"IDUNNOIDUNNOIDUNNO!"

"Lieuteniant, _what's the plan_?" Foley's voice only raised a notch.

Luz was holding out the radio, telling Dike that he needed to talk to Captain Winters - which he did, and desperately so - and everyone else was firing the same questions at Dike; what's the plan?

"Okay, okay, Foley, FOLEY! YOU TAKE YOUR MEN. YOU TAKE YOUR MEN ON A FLANKING MISSION AROUND THE VILLAGE AND ATTACK IT FROM THE REAR."

Suicide. He was literally sending them to their death.

Everyone kept talking, but Foley beat everyone else out.

"You want 1st Platoon to go around and attack the village by itself?"

"WE WILL PROVIDE SUPPRESSING FIRE!"

"We're gonna be kind of _alone_ out there, Lieuteniant."

"WE WILL PROVIDE SUPPRESSING FIRE!"

Jaw set, Foley stood back up and darted back off.

**...**

_"You need. To talk. To Captain. Winters, sir!" He said slowly, almost hoping that it would help Dike understand that Winters would tell him what to do instead of... well, this._

_Dani's beautiful face was white. Almost as white as the snow, she stared at Dike, frozen in time, not knowing what to do. He could see her hand itching to slap the hell out of the brainless creation. He wanted to reach out, tap her on the arm, reassure her that they would live, but he didn't know that and he didn't have time._

_Dike had melted into a senseless daze. Nothing penetrated his little happy bubble._

Well, good fucking news for him; the rest of us just get to die.

_Foley's voice took over Perco's radio, briefly explaining that Perco had been shot but it didn't seem too serious. He continued on to report that 1st had lost five men, and asked if they could locate._

**...**

Lipton ducked back around from where he was locating a sniper, getting Dike's face as he yelled: "SIR, WE ARE SITTING DUCKS HERE! WE HAVE TO KEEP MOVING!"

It reminded me of that one time when Peacock was yelling at the men in Holland to keep moving with lipstick stains decorating his face where the pretty young women had kissed him.

Dike was in shock, though. There was no denying it. He'd had a mental breakdown. Somehow, somewhere, he'd lost his helmet. He was even grasping at his collar as if it was choking him.

Suddenly, a saving figure ran gracefully through the snow, sliding directly up to Dike, grasping him by the shoulder, and saying: "I'm taking over." Dike barely mustered the consciousness to nod before our savior moved onwards, plunging straight into the middle of things. "FIRST SERGEANT LIPTON!"

"Here!" 

"Whadda we got?"

"Sir, most of the company is spread out here. 1st Platoon tried an end-around. They're stretched out, pinned down by a sniper. I believe he's in the building with the caved-in roof."

"All right. I want mortars and grenade launchers to that building till it's gone. When it's gone, I want 1st to go straight in; forget going around. Everybody else, follow me."

Ronald Speirs never looked quite so beautiful as he did then.

George looked at me and smiled.

"Looks like we're going to live after all," I whispered to him as I ducked past to follow Speirs.

"Thank God, huh?"

**...**

There was a hell of a lot of infantry between us and Item Company. We needed to get to them before they figured we were having too rough a time of it and slipped away.

Speirs? He dashed right through the Kraut infantry. The best part of it all? After he hooked up with I Company, he came dashing right back.

Ron Speirs was such a God-send, if anybody had asked me, I would had said he sprouted wings and a halo and flew his way to us on clouds made of cotton candy.

Under his leadership, we took not only the town of Foy but also Kraut prisoners. A lot of Kraut prisoners; over 100.

**...**

Some of the men were piled onto a tank, singing 'I've Been Working on the Railroad' while being recorded by a camera whose film was probably going to be sent to America to be viewed by families and loved ones. I, personally, was seeing to all the wounded, working my way from where we had originally started - where the treeline began - towards town.

But havoc struck.

A shot I distinctly knew was a sniper rang out; then another and another as the men on the tank began to drop like sacks of potatoes and we ran to take cover behind buildings.

I glanced around, scanning the area anxiously. A medic had to get to those men who had been sniped. They wouldn't live otherwise.

Ducking out from my cover, I dashed out and towards the men lying on the ground, some still alive, others emitting no sound or showing any sign of movement at all. I was checking one man, the next, the next, when it happened.

I was straightening to withdraw a bandage, confident now that this German with a sniper rifle had a sense of decency and would at least let the men have a medic, but the feeling of a sledgehammer ramming into my stomach spread through my senses and, gasping for air as everything abruptly slowed, I looked down to find blood spreading and staining my uniform.

I dropped face-down to the snow, gritting my teeth against it; not the pain, but the shock. I knew enough to stay down. If that Kraut saw me moving, he would doubtlessly finish what he had started, but if the bleeding wasn't controlled, I would die of blood loss.

They say that everything slows down before you die and you see your life flash before your eyes. I only know that what I saw was red, so perhaps the color of blood was the color of my life.

Shifting an arm underneath me, I attempted to slow the bleeding with my hand and sleeve, lying there helplessly as my life source poured out through the tiny gaps between my fingers and pain lanced through my body, accompanying the dull thudding of my heart as it worked to maintain the level of blood in my veins.

This time, it was my blood staining the pure snow.


	30. 8: Traditions

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You guys are so going to hate me at the end of the chapter.

Merry Christmas!

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**Chapter 30 ****- Traditions**

_The blood coils in through my veins, I think of no one else._

_I never believed in much, but I believe in this;_

_I'm incomplete without you, I'd kill to taste your kiss._

**...**

A shot rang out. Another. A different gun sounded out its song and there were cheers.

The chances held it that if I moved, I would increase the bleeding. I could already feel the moisture against my fingers, soaking through the sleeve that I was utilizing as a sort of faulty bandage. I was losing pressure in my fingers.

Gathering my strength, I opened my mouth and, in desperation, yelled the one word needed.

"MEEEDDDDDIIIIIICCCCCC..." My call trailed off into silence. The pain was coming harder now, a consistency that brought upon me a horrible desire just for it all to end.

The air was still with quiet, then running footsteps sounded out, followed by murmurs, and two pairs of hands grasped me and turned me over.

"Dani-"

"Hey, George," I grinned weakly. "Looks like the damn Krauts got me again." My eyes flickered to Roe's -damned unreadable - face. "How bad is it, Doc?"

"Just stay with us, Shoemaker, and you'll be okay."

My eyes gave him the best doubtful look they could muster before the ever-sharpening lances of pain attacked again. I gasped for a brief moment as it grew even worse, but let out a huff of relief when I realized it was simply the bandage pressing against the wound.

_That pain means good things_, I tried to tell myself. _It says that your chances just went from nil to almost nil._

Doc was telling me to just hang tough and stay with them. Stay alive. That was never good. Ever.

My fingers moved to my pocket and dug out the lighter, shoving it into George's palm before my hand seized up and clenched to take the pain out on something other than my voice.

I felt a sharp jab in my leg and then the agony began to subside. Morphine. Thank God for morphine.

I was beginning to lose conciousness when the jeep pulled up. I wasn't sure when Luz had called it or how long I had been lying in the snow, waiting; waiting for this all to end. Just waiting.

"Hey, George," I said as they lifted me onto a stretcher and hurried me to my method of transportation.

"Yeah, Dani, I'm right here, what is it?" He asked, walking alongside the stretcher, even as they hauled me up.

"Don't let Jerry get my lighter, yeah?"

"Yeah."

I forgot if I needed to say anything else to him. Even if I had recalled anything, it would have been too late. The last thing I remember seeing is his figure receding away, dwarfed by the vast expanse of smoke rising from the town behind him.

**...**

The next thing I can remember, however, is staring at the back of my closed eyelids. My eyes themselves felt grainy, encrusted, untrustworthy. My entire body felt weak; so weak that I doubted I could barely move a muscle if I wanted to.

Licking my lips just to make sure my tongue still worked, I decided it must be safe to let my eyelids flicker open and have a look around. A young nurse was sitting over me, preparing some sort of mess next to my bed. When she saw me watching her, she smiled at me; it was a cold smile, one that was faked and insincere, tired and drawn out, over-used and yet still unknowing. She thought she knew the horrors of war.

"Oh good," she said, "you're awake."

_Oh good, you're awake. One of the most cliche phrases for a nurse to say._ _Of course it's good that I'm awake. Otherwise I would be dead, and then where would the world be? Dani-less._ I thought to myself. _OH SHIT, I'M WEARING A SKIRT._

My OD's had been replaced by a worn out, over-washed skirt that was much too big and a shirt that was the same.

_Where's my lawyer when I fucking need him?_

Twisting my head, I examined my surroundings. I was in a sort of aid station or hospital. Either way, it was inside. There were nurses in actual uniforms - a rare thing - bustling about, tending to the patients. Moans of pain were eventually silenced by morphine, only to have a few more spring up from a replacement who hadn't bothered taking a look at the patients around him and didn't know that things could be much worse at the moment.

I hated that place. I hated it with a passion. Boredom reigned supreme; I was battling against Time, and Time was an experienced, seasoned fighter.

My body was fighting to heal faster than it could and I had no control over it. It made one very nervous to know that you could not do anything about the situation you found yourself in. Even my medic bag and OD's were missing.

By the time I was allowed to so much as sit up, two days had passed and I was impatient. Days had passed by and most of the nurses didn't know what the hell they were doing, which was a sad commentary coming from a girl who almost never knew what the hell she was doing.

The more I was there, the more I seemed to think about George. The more I thought about George, the more I thought about being held in his arms. The more I thought about being held in his arms, the more I wanted to be _back_ in his arms.

I knew that one time when I had told him that I loved him was driven by a need to hear something akin to 'I'm coming to your funeral', except perhaps a more caring and gentle way of saying. He had only needed to know that someone would cry at his funeral; someone would be there to be sad if he did die and his death would not be in vain.

Yes, I thought about him a lot.

What exactly happened in that hospital, I won't mention. The only thing that mattered was when one day, I was walking along the hallway and I heard someone call my name.

"Dani! 'Ey, Dani!"

I smiled for what must have been the first time in days. There was Frank Perconte, lying on his side, looking pained but happy to see me all the same.

"Perco! What're you doing here, did your ass get wounded or somethin'?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

"Way to carry on the Easy Company tradition of getting shot in the ass."

"Yeah, well, someone had to do it."

"Self-sacrifice? That's very noble of you, Perco."

"I thought so too, Dani."

Leaning down, I lowered my voice to a whisper.

"Can your wounded ass walk, Perco?"

"Whatsa matter, Dani, already anxious to get out of here?"

"You've no idea."

**...**

_The heavenly sound of quiet sopranos drowned out their worries, if only for a moment._

_He let his head drop to the side and thought about that day. Where was Dani? Where was she?_

_Was she dead?_

_He didn't want to think those thoughts. He only wanted to think about her eyes when she gazed up at him, back when she didn't have that sorrow in her soul; back before she had started breaking._

_They hadn't heard any word on Dani. They had no way of knowing, unless someone took it into their mind to send papers, telling them the details. As far as he knew, that never happened._

_He couldn't get her off of his mind. Her pale white skin, her gasping breath, her winces of pain, the blood pooling underneath her body..._

_He felt his insides start to gnaw away from the core out. What if...?_

_He had asked her if she loved him selfishly, to ease the probable-at-that-time passing of his life into the grave. It seemed as though the positions had been reversed now; she could be dead and he had never told her that she mattered to him. Or that he was even glad she was alive. He had always just assumed that she understood it was a mutual bond of friendship._

_He would never forgive himself if she had passed into the void without knowing what she did to him, even if she didn't feel the same._

**...**

When Perco's very precious ass had finally healed enough to leave, I wasn't sure how much time had elapsed. There was no telling; it could have been years, for all I knew. It _felt _like years.

It took some extracting skills, but I got some OD's. There was no trace of my medic bag, however. I could only hope that Roe had grabbed it from me before I had been rushed off.

We both knew we were pulling AWOL's. Neither of us cared. Perco knew I would beat his ass if we didn't get back to wherever Easy was stationed - which, by what I heard, was a town named Haguenau - even if his ass _was_ wounded.

They were calling Easy Company the 'Battered Bastards of Bastogne', apparently. It was a rather fitting title; we were battered, we were bastards, and we had defended Bastogne. Plus, it just sounded cool.

**...**

**Februrary 9, 1945:**

Somehow, we managed to reach Haguenau. Don't ask me how; I wasn't exactly sure. All I knew was that when I sat down and leaned against a building's stone brick wall, there wasn't a part of me that wasn't aching.

Perc shambled back over from where he had been talking to some tough son of a bitch.

"They said CP2's in that building, over there."

I glanced in the direction his nod indicated and made a face.

"I'mma find some food; God knows I haven't eaten all day," I told him, groaning my way back up onto my feet. "I'll find you later, 'kay?"

The truth was, I had eaten a bar of chocolate only an hour before. I just wanted to find where the Company CP was. When I asked a man, he gave me directions and then left me to find it on my own lonely self.

_Great fucking idea_, I snarked to myself as I began to randomly open doors once I got turned around rather thoroughly, _just leave Dani to go hunting for a CP and-_

I heard voices; the murmurings of a civilized man with dirt still on his jacket, fresh from the field. The sound was unforgettable. Creeping in, I closed the door behind me and moved so I could hear clearly. If it did turn out to be my favorite men in the world, I didn't want to burst in on them. I wanted - needed - to

"Woah, Hershey bars!" Liebgott said enthusiastically.

"_Geezus_." _His_ voice said. My heart seemed to jump inside of my chest. GEORGE FUCKING LUZ! HE WAS ALIVE. By the tone of his voice, he had been protecting the Hershey bars like a mother protects her child for quite some time.

"Yeah, who they for?" Lieb asked George, as if he actually cared about the answer.

"Not you, Lieb." Luz answered impatiently, beginning to get pissed.

"Oh, come on, George, one bar."

"No, _there's not enough to go around_!"

"Captain Speirs here?" A voice I didn't recognize cut in.

"Uh, down by the river, sir." Luz answered the strange voice respectfully. It must have been Buck's replacement or something. Goodness knew he would have some big shoes to fill; Buck's feet were mammoths.

"'Ey, big mouth, give the kid a Hershey bar, huh?" Perconte's voice wafted into my ears.

"You gotta be SHITTIN' me!" Luz cried. I could hear his smile.

"What's up, guys? Like what you've done with the place, George."

"Yeah yeah yeah, I did good huh? How you feelin'?"

"Alright. Long as you keep your hands off my ass, I'll be fine."

"Have a Hershey's."

"Hey, he gets a fucking Hershey bar?" Lieb protested.

"Well, he got shot in the ass." Luz replied. "Didya see Dani?" 

"Yeah."

"How is she?" His voice sounded almost impatient.

"You'll have to ask her yourself," Frank replied. "She's investigating getting some food."

"Holy shit," I said, meandering into the room. "Did I hear my name? I'm gone less than a fucking month and you guys are talking about me."

"Daniiiii!" George's voice drowned out the other enthusiastic pronounciations of my name by far; it was as if his smile lit up the room. Perhaps that was just me, though; goodness knew I had been missing that smile for a month, and that can do things to a girl's mind.

As the attention in the room continued on elsewhere (specifically, Perco's ass sticking out into the wind), I moseyed up to George and dipping a hand into the pocket where I knew my lighter would be.

"Hey, George," I whispered, smiling up at him. For once, he didn't make a smart-ass comment. "Still alive?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

I swiveled and tuned my ears back in to what Liebgott was saying; "Yeah, well, just to make sure, we gotta row 'cross the fucking river tonight, grab a few, and ask them in person."

"You kiddin' me?" Perco asked incredulously.

"Wish I was; welcome back, Frank."

"Yeah, oh, Geezus, that reminds me, Web; I need you to run these to OP2 for me. Grenade launchers for the night patrol, huh?" George picked up a box and held it out as the man put on his helmet. "Any day now, Web. There you go. You know what, send these too, three, four, five, six..." He tossed some more into the box that 'Web' was holding.

Curiously, I looked at the man holding the box. There seemed to be something vaguely familiar about him-

"Ay, it's The Webster!" I realized. "Back from the dead! I knew your face looked familiar. The beautiful nurses didn't kill you, back at the hospital?"

"So you two busted out, huh?" Lieb inquired of Perco and I, and I bowed to him mockingly.

"Ask Perco and he'll say he did all the work, but I have the supreme honor of telling you he only sat on his fat wounded ass and I did all the fuckin' job of busting us out!"

"Yeah, well, she's the one who had to wear a skirt."

"Perc!"

No one needed to know about that.

"What're you gonna do, hit my ass?"

"How'd she look, Perc?" Luz asked, sending a devilish look my way.

"Good, actually. She sure can swing those hips."

My hand connected with his ass with a solid THWACK!

"'Ey, watch itttt!"

"Hey, hey, hey, did you hear what happened on D Company's patrol last night?" Vest asked, leaning forward eagerly, saving me from any further questions.

"What?" Lieb asked. He should've known better.

"Replacement lieuteniant blew his foot off, stepped on a shoemine. Fresh in from West Point, had to come back empty-handed."

"No shit. He was a friend of yours, Lieuteniant." George put in with a rather humored look at the man I didn't recognize.

"'Ey Vest, what you got in there?" Cobb asked in his perpetual complaining voice, referring to a box Vest had been carrying and had set down next to Luz. "More Hershey bars and Lucky Strikes for your rear echelon fuckster hoard, uh?"

"'Ey, 'ey, 'ey, with the mouth, Cobb, the kid's just trying to do his job and there's a lady in the room, alright? Geezus C - you know what, what the hell with it, done with this, Vest, I gotta go blast this house."

"Fuck's sake. You happy now?" Vest asked, half-glaring at Cobb in annoyance.

"You coming, Dani?" George asked, throwing a glance my way. I nodded and it must have been my imagination that a flash of a smile crossed his face. "Perco, coming?"

"Nah."

"Make yourself useful, watch this shit, alright, Web, you're coming with me."

"Sergeant, is Captain Speirs gonna be where you are headed?" The mysterious Lieuteniant asked. 

"Uh, same vicinity, yeah."

"Alright, then I'll join you."

"Where are we going?" Webster was so out of it, he had the helmet, he had the box, he had the gun, but he had stored no information.

"To the house I gotta blast."

"Is Captain Winters gonna be with him?" Vest inquired, looking up as if Luz was supposed to know. 

"Geez-I dunno, maybe!"

"Then I'm coming too."

As we headed out the door, hell broke loose inside the room as the men left to their own demise started grabbing whatever they could get their hands on. The last thing I heard was Frank complaining about how he had a wounded ass and the guys wouldn't leave him alone. I ducked my head to hide a smirk, but Webster saw it anyway.

"Something funny, Dani?" 

"Naw, just Perco's ass."

"So, you wore a skirt, huh?" George asked me.

"I swear, I will kill Perco, despite his ass." I promised, and he chuckled. "Ey, Gawge, give me a cig, will ya? Fucking hospital wouldn't let me have any."

He pulled one out, stuck it in his mouth, lit it while walking with practiced ease, took a puff, then handed it to me. I took a verrrrry long draw and then sighed in satisfaction.

"Excuse me, but are... are you a woman?" The Lieuteniant butted in and I glanced backwards at him, raising my eyebrows at how long it had taken him to figure that out and ask the damn question.

"Holy shit, who's this?" 

"Lieuteniant Jones, fresh from West Point. Lieuteniant, Pvt. Shoemaker."

"Oh, Shoemaker? Your father makes shoes?" Lieuteniant Jones looked to me and I took a draw from the cig.

"No. Grocer."

George cracked up once again. I slapped him on the back of the head.

"What the fuck, George? You laugh every single time that gets said. And what happened to you, anyways? Your hair's all did and everything."

"What, now you've got something against my hair?" 

"Naw. It actually looks quite pretty, you know. I know a few guys who would take you out, nothing to be ashamed of."

Thunk.

"EY, WATCH IT! I got a hole in my stomach, you know, we wouldn't want it bursting because you didn't like me accusing you of being a-"

Thunk.

George pointed the good Lieuteniant in the direction Captains Speirs and Winters were most likely to be in.

I knew what I needed to do.

Nodding to George and muttering "I'll be right back," I set out in the direction pointed to; yes, I knew _exactly_ what I needed to do. I just didn't _exactly_ want to do it.

I located Speirs and Winters with little difficulty. They were staring across the river with a pair of binoculars and talking about the patrol.

"Hey, Ron. Sir." I nodded to Captain Winters.

"Dani," Ron greeted me. "Aren't you still supposed to be at the aid station."

"I figured screw them."

He nodded once, as if this was just the behavior he had expected from me. Actually, it probably was.

"But, uh, I heard that there was a patrol planned for tonight-"

"Captain Winters?" Lieuteniant Jones interrupted from behind us. "About the patrol. I feel that I should go on the patrol, sir, I know I could use the experience."

"Denied. Anything else?"

"You're not going to lead that patrol, Lieuteniant Jones." Ron Speirs said as politely as Ron Speirs could. "You were saying, Dani?"

"I was going to volunteer for the patrol tonight."

"For fuck's sake, Dani. You're not even in any state to be here, let alone be on a patrol. Besides that, it's only that; a patrol. They'll be there and back in no time, so they won't be needing a medic immediately on hand."

I nodded. He had a good point; if it was absolutely necessary, I could carry through a battle, but it wasn't such a brilliant idea.

"Thank you. And Ron?" He looked back to look at me, his ice blue eyes glinting in the last rays of the dying sun. "I can't find my medic bag; I think they took it, at the aid station." He was motionless for a moment, then nodded.

"We'll see about getting you another one."

I nodded once, then turned on my heel and began to walk off-

"Oh, and Dani?" I turned. "No promises." He gave me the tiniest of all winks and turned back to his military business of looking awesome with binoculars.

Smirking, I began to walk away once again, but not before I saw the giant step forward he took and the words he spoke right after that giant step; '"Permission to speak, sir."'

I rolled my eyes heavenward and wondered how long it had been since I'd heard a line like that. When I had finally found my way back to George, he was evidently finished blowing a building up and was casually leaning up against the broken wall, right where I had left him, smoking a cigarette.

The sight filled me with more happiness than I dared contemplate.

"Waiting for me, George? You must really have missed me."

"Waiting? I'm smoking a cigarette, don't blow up your ego."

"Oh, alright. I mean, crying at night because she feels unloved won't kill a girl. And at least the man that broke her heart by smoking a cigarette instead of waiting for her will have some comfort in knowing that if she gets killed it was because she was distracted in thinking back to that one afternoon when he rejected her tender heart so completely..."

"Geezus, what are you, a soap opera?" We absently began walking back slowly, me finishing my cig as he smoked his.

"No. Just a girl dying of a broken heart."

"So what did you want to see the good Captain for, huh, Shakespeare?" 

"Shakespeare? I like the sound of that."

"Dani, what did you do _this_ time?" 

"Well, I felt seeing as how I have had a break-"

"You didn't volunteer for the night patrol did you?" 

My silence spoke for itself.

"Dani, you just got back today and you're already back on that death wish mission?" 

"Hey, it takes alot to kill a woman!"

"Why'd you do it?" 

"Because, Second's off badly - and I would know - and I just felt, seeing as how, you know, I've had a break for a couple of days..."

"Yeah? Well there's a reason you had a break, Dani, and that reason is called a bullet in your stomach."

"I know, I know." I drawled.

"You're drawling."

"So?" I drawled.

"Am I in trouble now or somethin'? Geezus."

"None of your fuckin' business, Georgio." I drawled.

"Then I'll change the fuckin' question. Will I live through the night?" 

"The chances aren't in your favor." I drawled.

"Then I might as well do this."

I felt his hand on my wrist, pulling me backwards and using my own momentum as leverage to swing me around and propel me into his arms.


	31. 8: Chocolate and Cigarettes

**A/N: **_**Tears and Rage, Lift the Wings, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, Lilmonkey1507, dustandglitter, AivieEnchanted, Ryuu Miyori**_**, **and_**CP2girls**_; I would say that you guys are phenomenal, but I use long words too much, so I will simply say THANK YOU, and I love you guys. Like, a lot.

And I am happy to announce that the day has FINALLY COME! I apologize for the shortness, but you should know that there _is_ a good reason for it. Just not one that I am able to share with you at this moment in time. (:

Read and Review. (no, you don't have an option! Haha) :D

But seriously, R + R. I tore my own ass up over this one.

**Chapter 31**** - Chocolate and Cigarettes**

_You're just too good to be true,_

_Can't keep my eyes off you._

_You feel like heaven to touch;_

_I wanna hold you so much._

**...**

He needed to tell her. He couldn't contemplate the thought of letting her almost slip away again. All he wanted was to have her in his arms. That was all.

He wasn't sure what he was thinking when he pulled on her arm and swung her backwards. Perhaps to have a joke out of it; perhaps. Perhaps he was serious about it but simply didn't know it. _Perhaps._

**...**

The world was still a blur when I felt his lips on mine, touching mine, kissing mine, caressing mine. Our hot breath collided as he drew away just enough to stare at me, our eyes locking and holding. It was as if he was asking if everything was okay; he was giving me a chance to run.

When he met no resistance or objection, his lips returned to mine, pulling the breath out of my lungs and filling my head with a heady ecstasy as my eyes slid closed.

His lips tasted of the cigarette he had just finished and underneath that lay the sweet tang of the chocolate ration he'd had for lunch. I smelled him; clean, spicy, thoroughly George, even as he backed me up into the wall I was only just now aware of, its hard and prickly surface scratching against my skin.

His arms slipped around my waist and he pulled my body up to meet his as my own appendages slid around his neck, his teeth dragging across my full bottom lip in a signal of his want - need - for me before our tongues met, clashed, intertwining eagerly as our hands moved restlessly.

His ragged breath rushed in and out of his mouth, the same mouth that comforted me, assured me, and tormented me in so many different ways. It trailed fiery kisses from the corner of my lips to my jawline to the tip of my ear and then he repeated it on the other side.

Then, his tongue nicked the scar tissue left behind, the unexpectedness causing me to gasp. Suddenly, I was back at the hospital -

_...unable to do anything as they cut my hair. They were cutting my fucking hair too short; my scar showed. They didn't even care, it seemed. They just averted their eyes and continued on in their own pretty way._

_Yes, they thought they knew what pain was. They thought they knew the horrors of war. What did they know about pain and war? What did they know about loss? What did they ever understand, other than another man was bleeding and it was time for a bandage-me-up-Scotty._

_They thought they knew everything. Every fucking thing._

Suddenly, a door opened and slammed shut. Our bodies jumped apart as though we were guilty children caught with the cookie jar, turning startled, half-dazed gazes to the small Italian man who was looking down at us in amusement.

"Luz, dice?"

"Shut up, Perco."

"I have to get back," I whispered to George, looking up at him to find that he was still looking at me longingly. I averted my eyes quickly as if I'd been burned; if I continued to see that face, that look, those eyes, I would jump him.

My feet took me away from him. My brain was screaming to go back to him and I wouldn't have believed what had just happened if not for my red, swollen lips.

"Dani," I heard Speirs' voice behind me. I turned slowly, gifting him with the treasure of a smile.

"Ron."

"You look tired."

"What makes you think so?" 

"Your eyes are bloodshot. Your fingers are quivering. Dani, go get some rest. Nobody expects you to be back to normal on your first day back."

"Right. Thanks, Ron."

As I dragged my feet to where I was told was CP2, I realized I really was quite tired. Perhaps it was the journey, perhaps it was the sensory overload I had been gifted with.

The CP2 was a house that had once been occupied, except now it was housed with Army bunks and the like. Most of the tattered wallpaper seemed to have the theme of Christmas trees decorated with a jolly star on top.

No one was there, so I simply picked a bunk and lay down.

**...**

When my eyelids sprang open and I practically jumped off the bed, the lighting in the room had changed considerably and there were murmurs of voices downstairs. But it wasn't important.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I rested my head in my hands in weary confusion.

"What the fuck am I thinking?"

This couldn't happen.


	32. 8: I Can't

**A/N: **_**Lilmonkey1507, Ryuu Miyori, littlebabydevon, dustandglitter, Tears and Rage, musicforsanity, Horsesareamazing, mysterious victoria, AivieEnchanted, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, CP2girls, Audrey Jenkins, Intersec, DancinThroughLife, **_and _**Nessa Faelivrin**_; OMG. I wasn't even going to update today, and yet here I am, updating once again, simply because of the amazingness you guys have been.

I hate the fact that this chapter has to be done, but still Read and Review? (:

**Chapter 32 ****- I Can't**

_If I lay here,_

_If I just lay here,_

_Would you lie with me_

_And just forget the world?_

_[Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol]_

**...**

I didn't want to think about it.

The footsteps and voices started to get closer. Realizing just how tired I still was, I blearily rubbed my eyes and stood to my feet, the boots that I had forgotten to take off thumping on the floor quietly as I headed to where I heard the sound of human civilization.

"'Kay, you men going on patrol - Skinny - nothing rattles, nothing shines, no helmets."

It was probably a kitchen at one time, the bricks old and carefully placed, dirty now in the light that came from a couple of lamps on the wall and the boxy windows that lined the entire room. There were still ingredients on the shelves above the sink, located on one side of the room. On the other lay a large stack of what looked to be like cardboard. In the middle of the room, there was a large island table, occupied by men's feet as they propped up their legs.

I wasn't too concerned about the furnishings, however. The men gathered within this room that had seen better times; they were all that really mattered to me right then.

"Daniii."

"Liebgottttt."

Looking around, I could see that they were preparing for the patrol, simply by looking at their faces. They had all come too far to give up on this now; now, when it was rumored that Jerry's back was finally breaking.

Most of them were eating, looking anywhere but their weapons as they did so.

Malark turned from where he was dishing food out to Eugene Jackson. When he saw me, Malark's face simply lit up and he smiled for what must have been the first time in days, maybe weeks.

"Dani," he said, and I saw by his face that no one had told him they had seen me.

"Hey, Malark." I couldn't believe my eyes. Had he been this changed before I left, or had I just been too caught up in my own personal pain to really notice the difference?

His hair, although recently washed, had lost its vibrant red color and was now a limp, reddish brown tint that could barely be described as a color. His face was drawn and tired, his mouth more solemn, and his eyes seemed to hold all the sorrow in the world.

"How've you been?" I asked, giving him a tight hug, perhaps to comfort him, perhaps so he wouldn't see the tears prickling at my eyes, perhaps to reassure him that I was really there and I hadn't died after all.

"Pretty good. We thought you were -"

"Dead? Yeah, I almost bought it for a few days there." Or so they had told me. When I had woken up, it had been days after I had arrived at the hospital and I didn't remember anything that had gone on during that time. "But you know me; they can't take the great Dani Shoemaker down with a single bullet."

"Two bullets," Liebgott, the smart ass, corrected me, "and a piece of a fucking building."

"Shut up, Liebgott," I turned and hit him on the arm playfully, careful not to spill any of the precious stuff he was eating that was inside of the cup he was holding.

I noticed Webster was watching me now, a sort of examining expression in the depths of his eyes. The Lieu was staring at me with wide eyes, probably in disbelief that a woman could take that much of a beating and still be standing there, joking with a bunch of men like she'd known them her entire life.

Right. I'd forgotten there was a newcomer.

Malark turned to offer his cooking to Lieuteniant - fuck, what was his name - Jones. The good Lieuteniant stared at it for approximately three full seconds, trying to decide exactly _what_ that was, and then finally shook his head with the vestiges of distaste on his face. Malark simply turned and gave the portion to Webster, who, knowing how to appreciate things without liking them, said; "Thank you."

Fuck. He was still polite.

I grabbed a cup from the counter and held it still as Malark dished me some as well. Finally, he set the pot down, picked up his own cup, and turned to the Lieuteniant, who was either cleaning his firearm, or doing something with his hands and a rag that involved a gun.

"You set for tonight?"

The Lieuteniant's eyes were suddenly larger than before, almost popping out of his sockets, seemingly, and he nodded miniscully.

"I'm ready."

"Those Krauts are gonna catch some hell."

"So I hear." Lieuteniant Jones' eyes were less freaked out now; more disappointed than anything, really, the perfect match to his voice. "I'm not personally going in."

"Martin, right?"

I swung myself onto the table next to Webster, nodding to him as I casually started eating. It seemed things didn't change much in war; we were still scoffing down whatever-the-hell was in front of us, except this time, there wasn't anyone to joke about how it was _not_ spaghetti, or how the beans tasted like armpits that weren't warm.

Webster was watching the conversation between Lieuteniant and Malark with his usual inscrutable expression. I began watching the conversation between Lieuteniant and Malark with my usual _very_ scrutable expressions.

"-Supposed to say in the rear and give them cover." Lieuteniant's face was still rather downcast. I had hoping it would have brightened by the time I had looked at him again. I mean, fuck, man! You haven't even seen combat yet, and you're depressed? Not only that; you're depressed because you can't go into combat?

_Geezus. What is this world coming to?_

Replacements. The world was coming to replacements. _Everyone_ knew-

"That's the best place to be."

Yeah, basically; what Malarkey said.

The Lieuteniant still looked disappointed. Hopping off the table, I raised my cup to Malark and saluted him.

"Malark, I hate to break the news to you, buddy, but you remember Normandy? Yeah, your cooking hasn't improved. What'd you do, actually stick your ass in the pot?"

He smiled; well, not really a smile. It was more of a smirk as he raised his tin cup back up to his face to take another gulp of the masterpiece that was Malarkey's cooking.

"Dani, you got a lighter?" Shifty asked five minutes later, glancing up at me from where he was inspecting his rifle.

"Yeah." I dug it out of my pocket and handed it to him, not needing to ask whether or not Shifty would return it. You could trust Shifty with those things.

I sat there with the men as they prepared for action, happy that I was not going in, and yet disappointed that I couldn't help in some way. They already had so much to bear, I just wished I could lighten the load of it all.

From what I had gathered from my insider sources, Malark had originally been selected to be header of the patrol, but Webster, understanding the Lieuteniant's need to be recognized as something other than a replacement (having just come back from the hospital with the pretty nurses himself), he started switching things up on us all. Johnny Martin ended up being selected to go on the patrol with Lieuteniant Jones as an observer; Malarkey had this one off.

And deservedly so.

**...**

The genius plan was to float some boats across the river by way of a rope, attached at both sides of the river. You got your hands on the rope and practically went hand over hand, except horizontal instead of vertical.

The night sky was mostly dark except for the two spotlights directed by German hands, flashing through the sky on the other side of the running strip of water, and the occasional star flare. On my own side of said strip of running water, there was, and this is an exact count; four rubber boats, one piece of thick twine running from one side of the river to ours, and fifteen men without helmets, and one woman (who wasn't going on the damn thing) with a helmet but no medic bag.

It begs the question; _you're serious?_

Unfortunately, whoever was at the top of our list wanted Kraut prisoners, and therefore we needed to get Kraut prisoners. It was the way the Army worked; an unfortunate system that required people going out of their way to please assholes.

Snow blanketed the ground. The town on the other side looked deserted; haunted even. There were trees standing forlornly along the shores, emphasizing the entire creepy image with their gaunt and skinny limbs, stretching out as if to accept some sort of clothing from Mother Nature herself, but no such aid was coming forth, leaving them there to stand there, tall and ungainly.

"Any problems-"

"No problems-"

"It's secured to the tree. No sign of any-"

"Keep it steady-"

They started climbing into the boats with a bit of splashing (four men in three boats, three men in one boat, equaling fifteen) and everything was soon underway. No sooner had I realized that the plan was meant to be foolproof than someone decided to be a fool and an entire boat handed the line over their heads, resulting in - oh my goodness, what a shocker - being dumped in the water.

Garcia, of course, couldn't swim and made a big noise while choking out someone else who was trying to survive. Cursing the ineptitude of people who didn't know what the hell they were doing, I quickly waded - more like barged - into the water and dragged him back to the bank. Then, in disgust, I realized my pants were sopping wet and it was _still_ - again, what a shocker- cold outside.

The other men in the merry little boats simply kept going; there wasn't much else they c_ould _do. You can't cancel a mission just because three men decided to be dumbasses and got themselves really wet. The men in question were; Cobb, Garcia, and another man whose face was hidden in shadow. I didn't take the time to look more closely; I high-tailed it off to find some more pants.

The first place I looked was where the rest of the battalion were waiting to give covering fire when the men on the patrol decided to come back. I saw a familiar profile and went over to him, knowing if he didn't know where some new pants were, probably no one else would.

George, taking one look at me, gave me a sardonic smile and said;

"What, did you have a wittle accident, Dani?"

"Knock off, George."

I would have liked to say more; we would have both liked to say more, but not in front of the others. Even when he lead me inside (he didn't trust me to find the extra uniforms by myself), he couldn't say anything because of the extra men hanging around, even in there. Un-fucking-believeable.

We needed to talk. And I wasn't about to do it in front of some replacements who would, no doubt, love the scene.

I only gave him a grateful smile when he showed me where the motherload was located and, for the time-being, that was enough.

By the time I had changed everything that was wet, I had a feeling that they'd be returning soon and, dashing over to where I had heard they had set up the aid station, I found Doc Roe.

"Hey, Doc."

"Shoemaker."

"You wouldn't happen to have my medic bag, would you?"

"No, why?"

"I didn't have it when I woke up at the hospital. I've been thinking, and I don't believe it was ever at the hospital. I can't remember ever having it in the truck on the way."

"Sounds to me like you left it in the field."

"Yeah, most likely." I looked at Doc speculatively. He'd been through a lot; more than anyone knew. It seemed as though no one ever really understood what it was like to be him. He had to sit there and watch his friends pass away in front of his eyes, like the rest of the men, but he had the access to the thought that maybe he could have done something different, and then they would have lived. And no one ever called him by his name; it was always 'Doc', or 'Doc Roe.' I never heard him referred to as anything other than that, and honestly, I had forgotten that wasn't who he really was. "What's your real name, Doc?"

He glanced up at me in surprise, licking his lips for a moment, as if he also found it hard to remember.

"Eugene."

I made a mental vow to never call him Doc Roe again.

Just then, Johnny Martin dashed in, calling for him frantically. Without another word, Doc R - Eugene took up his medic bag and his feet pounded the ground, dashing to where he knew his help was needed.

As we approached the banks of the river, the sound of gunfire poured from both opposing forces and, if it was possible, our footsteps quickened.

The sounds of frantic yelling mauled my ears as we drew close to a stone building that wasn't drawn back too far from the river. Ducking inside the doorway, what I saw made me automatically reach for the medic bag that was no longer swinging at my hip.

"Shit!" I swore desperately, hurrying further into the chaos that had become of my fellows. Eugene Jackson was bucking frantically and panicking while gasping that he couldn't do it because Vest was screaming about someone dying. I hurried over to him, trying to help calm him down.

"Alright, Jackson, take it easy, okay, okay." Doc Roe leaned down to check Jackson's breathing as he started to gasp. "Light, I need some light, gimme some light." Sisk obediently lit his lighter, and held it above Jackson's face. "Alright, look at the flame, Jackson, look at the flame." Gene instructed calmly. Jackson did so, and for a moment, his gasps began to slow, but then he began to shudder. "Alright, let's get him out of here, let's get him out of here."

Doc Roe knew what was going to happen as well as I did. Vest's yells of 'he's gonna fucking die' made Jackson panic, and if we didn't get him out of there and calmed down, he would go into hysterics, which he was showing good signs of doing. As they lifted him up onto the stretcher, Jackson began to sob violently, saying that he didn't want to die, twitching and shaking once again. They swiftly set the stretcher down in an attempt to calm him.

"Jackson, you are not going to die, you are not going to die, I need you to hang on!" Jackson nodded, but then choked on the blood he had stirred up when he gasped so frantically. "JACKSON!"

Jackson's throat convulsed one last time under Doc Roe's hand and then stilled forever. Doc Roe took off his helmet and looked to Babe Heffron, who shook his head slightly as a question, turning to the other men at the silent answer.

Martin took Skinny's blanket off of his shoulder and laid it over Jackson's motionless body. I straightened it out before looking up at the other men; Ramirez and Alley were close to crying, Webster was silently staring down into empty space, Vest had started sobbing once again, and Cobb was taking a very long drink of whatever alcoholic beverage he held in his hand.

To say it was a long night filled with sore eyes would be an understatement but eventually, the sun rose and Martin, Jones, and Webster went to go report to Winters and Speirs and show them what the night had resulted in. I myself wandered back to CP2 and settled in, sitting down on an empty bed, head in hands as I told the story. Not long after I was finished, Webster and Jones wandered in.

"We heard you got two prisoners." Malarkey said. "Good work."

We knew what he meant. It was an unfortunate accident - for Jackson to apparently have run into his own grenade - but we were lucky there hadn't been more wounded.

"Jackson's dead." Webster replied dully.

"Yeah, we heard." Lieb said, for once unsure of what to say.

"Yeah, well, they want another patrol for tonight." Perconte sat down on the bed next to me, patting me on the back. I managed to give him a small smile, exhausted, yet not wanting to sleep, knowing that I would be haunted by dreams and nightmares of what had happened the day before if I actually managed to close my eyelids for more than three seconds.

**...**

His eyes were on me and I could barely meet his gaze.

"I just can't do this, George," I whispered, twisting my fingers together while trying desperately not to cry as I remembered the unneededness and suddenness of Jackson's death. "I can't do this. I just - what if one of us died, George?"

**...**

The tears were almost rolling down her face, threatening to spill over at the blink of an eye. He needed to be there for her right then, but he had a feeling that she wouldn't let him if he was the one to make the move.

"I can't do this," she repeated, finally gaining the courage to look him in the eye.

He knew; he understood. He had seen his friends die in combat, too. He had felt only a fraction of the pain that losing Dani would cause, but he didn't think that _not_ being involved with her would help in any way. If he still lost her, it would still hurt.

When she saw that he understood, she collapsed into his arms without saying anything else, not shedding a tear but her body still shaking with grief.


	33. 8: A Drunken Man

**A/N:** OMG. THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU, _**CP2girls, Tears and Rage, Horsesareamazing, musicforsanity, Intersec, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, AivieEnchanted, Dulcea Viata, Volleyball Babe22, Ryuu Miyori, littlebabydevon, , You Know (), **_and _**Kelly Belle.**_

Thank you, everyone who made my winter holidays so incredibly amazing. I'd love it if you guys could reply like that to every single chapter, but I know how hectic life can be.

To everyone in general, I'm not planning on sticking to any certain schedule in the next few chapters; it depends on how inspired I am by the response I recieve and how much time I have. I promise, I shall update soon; I'm just not sure when.

That being said, HAPPY NEW YEAR; I hope 2011 will be amazing for each and every one of you incredible people.

Read and Review? (:

**Chapter 33 ****- A Drunken Man**

**...**

**February 10, 1945:**

The thought of there being a second patrol that night was probably on everyone's mind as we sat around the same table in the same room we had been in the day before. There was relative quiet all around besides a few murmured conversations; the air was filled with smoke from cigarettes. We were awaiting orders.

"Whatcha lookin' at, Webster?" Cobb broke the silence with his loud and drunken hail, directed at the man who was only looking around innocently, probably internally contemplating the rugged state of our lives there in the stony place we found ourselves.

Webster raised his head to look at Cobb for a moment, his lips parting as if debating on what he was going to say, but then his head dropped and his lips closed. No, he had decided, this was not worth it.

"Yeah," Cobb continued, not letting Webster walk away from this without a fight, trying to get him riled up. "That's what I thought, _college boy_."

At this, Lieuteniant Jones' head turned so he could gaze almost incredulously at Cobb. Webster had turned to studying the table, but looked up as Lieu Jones asked; "Are you drunk, trooper?" as if he couldn't believe that Cobb would be, even if he _was_ holding a rather large wine bottle in his hand.

"Leave me alone."

"Answer the question."

By now, everyone, even Johnny Martin, had turned to watch and see how Lieu Jones would handle the situation. He had been partially accepted already, judging by the way one of the men had lit his cigarette for him.

"Yes, sir, I am drunk, sir." Cobb mocked, his eyes unnaturally dark and glassy. "Drunk. Sick and tired of fuckin' patrols. Takin' orders-"

What was his fucking problem? He hadn't even _gone_ on the last patrol!

"Do us all a favor and shut the fuck up, Cobb, before I collapse your face with my fist," I told him.

"What's the matter, Dani? Don't want to hear someone else's problems because you're too caught up in your own to care?"

At this, Johnny Martin turned in his seat to face Cobb.

"Hey. Cobb. Shut up. It's boring, okay?"

"Taking a side, Johnny?" Cobb's voice was higher, almost to the point of breaking.

Cobb had broken. He just didn't know how to handle it.

Johnny turned back around so Cobb couldn't see anything but the back of his head.

"Yeah. I am."

Cobb emptied the wine bottle into his mouth.

**...**

Everyone knew that the second patrol was unnecessary. Not only that, but this time, the Krauts would be expecting us. We would lose more men; hell, the men might not even come back at all. It was the one time that I despised Sink.

That is, until Liebgott came back from the briefing with the news that Winters was secretly cancelling the patrol and Sink would be given a false report stating that we had crossed the river but had been unable to capture any Kraut prisoners on that second patrol.

It was a huge risk for Winters, but it only solidified his presence as an amazing leader in the eyes of the men under his command. He was risking his own skin for ours.

Not only that, but we were moving off of the line.

**...**

My feet skipped lightly up the steps to the somewhat battered wooden door. My hand touched the tarnished knob before turning it and my boots stepped inside, the door behind me shutting with a little help from the muscles in my fingers.

"What's up, guys?" I asked the three men I beheld immediately.

Skinny Sisk was stacking what looked to be chocolate in his arms, a deposit he was withdrawing from a box and for once, George Luz wasn't protesting as he and Webster watched a scene unfold in another room, right before their very eyes.

"Lip just got promoted," said George's voice.

"No shit."

It was about fucking time.

Lieuteniant Jones was pushed upwards as well, landing at First Lieu, gaining him a job up at Battalion. He had been inexperienced and naive at first, but with a little toughening, he looked as though he might actually become a good leader one day.

George's eyes met mine as I turned back around to face him.

"You look tired, Dani."

"You look cranky, George."

**...**

**February 25, 1945:**

One of the many puddles sprawling across the streets splashed high into the air when my foot landed in it and then, in perfect sync, left it even as the droplets were still rising into the air only to splatter back down to the pavement.

"Hurry the fuck up, Dani," George's voice called out, lazily drifting my way from where he was sitting on his ass contentedly in the moving vehicle I was pursuing.

"Yeah, because you fuckers are totally waiting for me," I retorted, catching up with the moving automotive, grabbing on with one hand and simultaneously hiking a foot up, right before the lumbering mechanical creation sped up. George caught my other hand, pulling me up before I reconsidered sitting in a truck heaping full of assholes.

Well, not necessarily _heaping_ full.

That, however, was a fact I ignored as I winked to the fellows in the truck, saying, "That's how it's done, boys," before sitting down on the seat next to .

"What took you so long?"

"Well, George," I drawled in return, "_someone _had to use the potty."

"Why'd you tell me? Fuck."

"Why'd you want to know? Fuck."

**...**

The trucks took us to heaven.

No lie.

.

"OH, HELL, HEY, GUYS, THEY HAVE FUCKING SHOWERS."

"GEEZUS, DANI, DON'T YELL IN MY EAR."

"SHUT UP, GEORGE, I HAVEN'T HAD A SHOWER IN A FUCKING YEAR."

"OH, THAT WAS THE GODAWFUL STENCH I SMELLED."

"FUCK YOU, GEORGE."

"THAT'S YOUR JOB."

"YOU WISH, BASTARD."

"WHY ARE WE YELLING."

"I DON'T KNOW. LET'S STOP."

"OKAY."

"YOU'RE STILL YELLING."

"SO ARE YOU."

"Shut the fuck up," Cobb snarled on his way past, fresh from a hangover he'd already gotten.

"YOU SHUT THE - oh, sorry," I fake-coughed to disguise my - well, I wasn't exactly embarassed. I was so happy, I didn't know what the fuck I was saying. At last, we could kick back and relax, play football, and just... well, be in heaven.

Then something happened; something I will never forget. It happened rather innocently, really; it happened in a way that you wouldn't expect these things to happen.

It was the night before we heard that we were once again called on by the Army. I didn't know that yet, though; neither did George.

"Dani, I swear, you're the most beautiful thing I ever did see," he drawled.

"Why, George, I didn't know you drawled when you were drunk," I giggled, having had a few drinks myself. Not enough that I was intoxicated, as George was, and not even enough that I was tipsy; just enough to make me happy and comfortable. Just barely.

"Well, now, da'ling, neither did I."

Things happen for a reason, I always believed. Things happen for a reason. I was beginning to lose all track of what I had been thinking of in Haguenau; all I knew was that his body was close to mine, his eyes were drawn to my lips, and his face was nearing.

I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him to kiss me so badly; I wanted to taste him again, feel his arms around me, smell his delicious scent.

But not like this, not now.

"George, you're drunk," I whispered. "You won't even remember this in the morning."

I wanted it to be perfect, even more perfect than it had been before.

"Sure I will, shweethea't."

"Do you even remember what we're talking about now?"

"Yeeeees-" His eyes became unfocused as he tried to remember and then refocused before he grinned at me cheekily. "W'll, nooo... all I know is I want to kiss your beautiful lips and your beautiful face and I want to hold you in my arms again, Dani."

I had seen him drunk before. I had seen him drunk plenty of times. But I wasn't going to _kiss_ him while he was drunk.

You would think men wouldn't drink more than they could handle, but no, the strong tough men that they were, they simply _had_ to have more than they could handle.

"Hey, go get me another beer, 'kay?"

"Whyyyyyy?"

"George."

"Goooiiiinnnnngggggg."

When he returned, I wasn't there and I felt absolutely awful about it. The only thought comforting me as I walked back to my quarters, head down, hands in pockets, glumly dragging my feet, was the fact that he wouldn't remember anything about it in the morning.

Sighing, I undressed and lay down in bed, listening to the nightlife for a few minutes before I finally closed my eyes. The last thing I remember is the feeling of forgetting before I slipped off into an abyss of dreams.

**...**

_The long white hands were slender and graceful, just like everything had used to be about my dear mother; but now, she was emanciated from the sickness she had been battling for the past few months. I knew now what this was costing her; to stay with us, to stay in the land of the living._

_I had been here before, I knew, but now I was no longer a little girl; I was a grown woman, but still with the same fear of losing her that I had felt the same day I looked down on this same sight; her delicate, high cheekbones fragile now, her golden hair pulled away from her face, dark circles under her shut eyes._

_"Mama?"_

_My dreams began to differ from the reality as her eyes slid open, revealing bright blue eyes that had always sparkled when they looked at me. Her perfectly shaped pink lips stretched into an inviting smile, her face turning healthier than I remembered ever seeing her._

_"Meine süsse," she was whispering as though it was a big secret that we were speaking to each other. "You look so much like your grandmother, darling."_

_I didn't know what to say, but the tears were blurring at my eyes and I had the heart-wrenching urge to sob._

_"I've missed you, Mama."_

_"Why? I'm always here, dear."_

_"I know, Mama, I know, but it's been so hard."_

_"You know what your name means?"_

_"What, Mama?"_

_She paused, her forehead scrunching in thought and then she grinned, admitting; "I don't know. Your father named you." It was enough to make me laugh, her purpose all along, and she laughed along with me. _

_"Why did he name me, Mama?"_

_"We made a bargain; well, we made a bet and I lost. He named the girls and I named the boys. Why we did it in such a way, I've not a clue, but he was the one who came up with it and he, my girl, is, after all, a man." I laughed again and, once again, she laughed with me. "That's my girl."_

_"I love you, Mama."_

_But then she began to fade back to the way she had been before she closed her eyes, but worse; so, so much worse. The dark circles had returned, until they seemed to consume her entire face. Her skin was pale, yellow-ish from disease. Her body mass seemed to melt away along with her soul, leaving a skeleton shell with no being dwelling inside._

_"Mama?" I asked frantically, reaching out to touch her. "MAMA!"_

_"Don't touch her, child; you may want to get her out of here, so she doesn't get infected," a strange man's voice ordered, then strong arms picked me up, squirming, and carried me out of the room._

_I remembered her death; we were there at her funeral once again, standing there. The black dress was heavy on me; itching away at my skin with the pretense of being respectful. The sky was covered in clouds. Mama would not have wanted it so; she would have wanted the sun out, she would have wanted happy music, she would have wanted bagpipes or flutes or anything but the silence that reigned between the pauses of the minister's voice, speaking the ceremony's closing lines._

_A laugh rang out across the field; a happy laugh, full of life and joy; a familiar laugh. Looking over so quickly that my hair smacked into my face, I took off running. Nobody noticed; I had left my body behind at the funeral. This was simply my soul, I realized. The laugh rang out again. I sped up._

_"Wait," my voice cried out, tinny now, small once again. I was the child I had been when my mama died, but in a woman's body; I was the girl who had just lost her mother. I knew, I just _knew_ that my mama was going to spring out of the trees as I dashed by and yell, "BOO!" and reassure me that she was fine and this was all just a big joke on us all._

_This joke wasn't funny, Mama._

_The sky cleared; blue background, white puffy clouds, sun shining. It was the perfect day now, and the laugh rang out again. I was sure that was my mama's laugh; I sped up._

_I halted for a second, though, as I came out of the woods I had barely noticed in my chase of the laughter._

_"MAMA!" I cried joyously, beginning to run again, my legs longer and my voice stronger and my arms reaching -_

_She turned to me, as beautiful as ever. But she wasn't alone. And she wasn't happy to see me._

_"No." Her eyes turned from laughing to cold. "No."_

_I stopped in confusion, not understanding. Why were her eyes cold? Why wasn't she happy to see me?_

_Behind her, there were other people standing or sitting in the long yellow-green grass that stretched up to my calf. I knew them; I knew them all. They were all the people in my life who I had truly loved; Geoff, my darling little brother Gery, my papa, my grandfather Opa, and... George? What was George doing there?_

_"This is the place for those who have passed on, Dani. Go." He told me, looking at me with the same cold look as my mother held in her eyes still. "GO. WE DON'T WANT YOU-"_

**...**

It wasn't the first time in my life that I had awoken with tears crawling over my face. I had to sit and convince myself that it _was_ only a dream after all, head in hands, still crying.

How I missed them. Oh, how I missed them.


	34. 9: Dropping In

**A/N:** OMG. You, _**Audrey Jenkins**_, _**EmmyMK**_,_** Ryuu Miyori**_,_** AivieEnchanted**_,_** Volleyball Babe22**_,__,_** Tears and Rage**_,_** Horsesareamazing**_, _**Lift the Wings**_, _**cHoCoLaTe-RuM**_,_** CP2girls**_,_** xXxRainbowxXxStarxXx**_, _**Dulcea Viata**_,_** trevtrev04**_,_** littlebabydevon**_,_** musicforsanity**_, and _**You Know ()**_, are AMAZING. Frigging amazing. I'm eternally grateful for all the support - I have NEEDED it - and I'm mildly ashamed to say that I don't think I could live without you guys.

I have bad news and good news.

The bad news (for me); sadly enough, this chapter mirrors my life. It's scary how I got to this part right with Luz right when I get screwed over myself. HOWEVER. The good news; I only have one more mid-term to study for - and consequently take on Monday morning - but after that, I shall do my absolute best to start updating like crazy again. So don't you guys dare give up on me, 'kay?

Read and Review? (:

**Chapter 34**** - Dropping In**

_I'm strong on the surface,_

_Not all the way through._

_I've never been perfect,_

_But neither have you._

**(Leave Out All the Rest - Linkin Park)**

**...**

**March 11, 1945:**

Our boots stepped nonchalantly along the dusty road leading the way out of the small town. We were off to get some chicken eggs.

"Smile, Dani."

"Why, George?" 

"I haven't seen your teeth in days."

I bared my teeth at him teasingly, growling for good measure.

"Happy now?" I asked in my smart-ass ways.

"Quite."

Damn. He always knew how to make me smile. And hell did I need to smile. The dream from that last free night in France still haunted me, and, as a consequence, I had a hard time sleeping. It seemed as though my past was beginning to follow me around.

We were even in Germany. Some fucker had decided to send us back into the field so we could say we'd been to Germany along with the entire list that we had compiled over the past two years. If you wanted to be specific, we were at a small town that I didn't particularly care to learn the name of. Some dumbass had decided to tell me a few days ago that the name of it was Stürzelberg. Why should I have cared? I had made some noncomittal smart-ass comment and walked away.

Either way, Germany was the best place I'd been since home. The people were actually friendly enough - more friendly than some of our allies; I'm looking at you, France - they were cultural and educated, there was hot showers, hot food, comfortable beds...

Beds. BEDS. REAL FUCKING BEDS.

Hell, they even had toilet paper. Do you know how long it'd been since I'd seen fucking toilet paper? _Unused_ toilet paper? Well, I hadn't even seen _used_ toilet paper, so I guess it doesn't really matter.

There were a few rules, however, one of which was that we weren't supposed to fraternize. Of course, that never really stopped anyone.

"Dani, Dani, Dani-" Someone called in an attempt to stop me where I was in the street. "You speak German, right, Dani?"

It was Private Janovec, a Toccoa man. His eyes were shiny, half-excited, half-desperate as he stared at me, waiting for my reply. 

_He is definitely attempting to fraternize. Should I report him or - nah. Why would I do that?_

"Who's the lucky girl, Janovec?"

I didn't wait for a reply. Spying a blonde head behind him, I brushed past his shoulder and nodded to the German girl standing there, waiting for him to come back to the conversation. She looked intelligent enough.

"**Sprechen kein Englisch**?" _Speak any English?_

"**Ja. Ich wartete auf ihn zu fragen**." _Yes_, she replied, _I was waiting for him to ask._

"**Immer eine gut Politik**," _Always a good policy,_ I approved. "**So oder so, ich habe gehort, er ist gut im Bett**." _Either way, I've heard he's good in bed._

Her eyes suddenly began to sparkle. Without waiting for her to say anything else, I turned and walked away, catching onto and dragging Perco behind me.

"Come onnn, Frannnk, I wannnt some eegggsssss."

"My eggs."

"I WANT YOUR EGGS."

We looked at each other and abruptly started laughing.

"That's what she said," George added his own voice in as he caught up to me.

"Yeah, that's what he thinks," I retorted.

When we finally picked out an ideal farm, we entered the gate and went chicken-hunting. In other words, we couldn't seem to find the chicken coop until I, Dani, decided to be the smart one and found it.

There was only one problem; the chicken nests were out of reach. We dragged a crate over so someone could stand on it and kidnap the eggs, since, hey, that's how we roll. After shoving a few chickens aside, Perco saw something he liked - something he liked a lot.

"Alright, this one's got some. George, you uh, you hold the chicken, I'm gonna grab the eggs, and Dani, you hold the helmet."

And that's how I ended up watching George and Frank stand close together on top of a crate while I stood next to the crate and held a helmet that wasn't mine while happily waiting for eggs that weren't mine either that were going to land in the helmet that wasn't mine in the first place. I even managed to joyfully peruse the general healthy state of the chickens whose eggs we were lifting.

"Feeling bossy today, Frank?"

"Yeah. Got a problem with that, Dani?"

"No, no, not at all. I mean, I get some eggs, so no, I ain't gotta problem."

"Good."

"Great. Fine, I'll just grab him by the foot," George reached out to the chicken. The chicken didn't really like him. "Come on, chicken." He got a hold and the chicken's squawking body was in his hands before it could crow. "Alright, this thing bites me, Frank, I swear I'll shoot it."

"Dani, hold the helmet steady, would you? Geezus."

"You just like having me along, Frank."

"Don't press your luck, Dani."

"Shutting up, Sarge."

"Thank you."

"You're quite welcome."

"Hey, Dani, I thought you were shutting up."

"Fuck you, George."

"Like I keep saying, that's your job."

"Yeah, in your dreams."

"What'd you say to that German girl Janovec was trying to fraternize with, anyways?" 

"I told her he was good in bed."

"You're fucking kidding me."

"Nope. Not."

"Why don't you do that for anyone else? Geezus."

"Janovec actually asked me. You fucking men, you think everything can come without a please or a pretty; sometimes you just bypass a lot of valuable opportunities and-"

At that precise moment, I was interrupted by the door swinging open and, framed by the sunlight, there stood in the doorway a young, frightened German woman.

"**Guten Tag, fraulein**," _Good day, little miss_, George greeted her, almost as if raiding a barn was normal. I hung my head; at his accent, at his ignorant title of her, the fact it was obvious that we were Americans (and it would have been even without the uniforms and the raiding the barn for chicken eggs), and the look in George's eyes when he looked at her.

"**Guten Tag**." _Good day._ She replied faintly before taking a step back and showing signs of _I'm-about-to-run-away-from-scary-Americans-now_.

"Hold on, ho - be right back - hold on a sec, hold on," George cast a hurried glance at Frank before ducking down off of the crate they were standing on and and running right towards her, causing her to dash away, with George calling after her - in English. "Hey, hey, hey, c'monnnn, I just wanna talk to ya!"

"George!" Frank called after him, ducking out of the barn and following the pair after making sure that he had gotten all of the eggs. My eyes rolling in their sockets in derision, I reluctantly followed Frank out of the smelly barn, out onto the hay that surrounded the chicken coop, running up to Frank's side so I could walk alongside him, listening as George's voice came through the doorway we were coming up on.

"I just wanna talk."

_Yeah, like hell you do._

The same female voice that had told him 'Good day' replied something about not understanding, but I was too busy checking for what had made a certain hitting-the-ground sound a few seconds before to really pay attention to whatever the fuck was going on. I had a feeling I didn't really want to pay attention to whatever the fuck was going on, either.

Realizing at last that I had dropped my cigarettes, I walked back to retrieve them and continued to the barn, just in time to hear some scraps of George telling Frank to go make his omelet in a rarely heard _George-Luz-wants-you-to-piss-off _voice.

Frank turned around, almost running into me in the doorway, muttering something about a blockhead not getting any of his eggs. I watched him go before turning back to George, who was staring at me impatiently.

"Luz. C'mon!"

"Dani, just piss off."

"George, what did I just fucking tell you about saying ple-"

"Piss off!"

_Oh, you fucking asshole!_

I looked at him for a moment then pointed to him, switching my gaze to the young woman whose eyes were darting from him to me to him to me, fear in her very expression, let alone her body language.

"**Er ist ein Frauenschänder**." I told her before lowering my arm, turning, and leaving to catch up to Frank, taking immense pleasure in how her eyes widened in terror right before I had jogged away. Poor girl. "He must want a fuck," I said to Frank as we walked towards the gate.

The farmhouse was nice enough; white walls, uneven wooden doors, no shutters, miscellaneous farm items scattered everywhere.

"Yeah, and he's sure to be getting one there. What'd you do?"

"Frank, you know me too fucking well."

"What'd you say?"

Yeah. He definitely knew me too fucking well.

I told him.

"Dani! 'Ey, Dani! Frank, hold on. Perc! Geezus, Dani, c'mon!"

I gave him a sour look at the exact same time as Perco did.

"_What_?" He asked, taking his helmet back from me and making a strange face as he raised his hand to rub his chin-and-mouth area as we watched Cpt. Nixon drive by in a jeep.

"That Captain Nixon?" George asked, just to be sure.

"Think so." Frank had a _I-want-to-scratch-my-head_ look on his face as he answered.

"What the hell's he doing in his harness?"

"I dunno." Frank replied. "Maybe we jumped into Berlin, war's over."

George made some agreeing noises that included a 'yeah' and a 'huh' as he flexed his jaw. Frank looked over at him calculatingly. I already knew what the flexing of the jaw entailed; a woman had slapped him.

"So what happened? No dice with the fraulein?"

"No dice. She smacked me in the mouth."

Snicker.

"Yeah, well, that's what you get for giving her cigarettes," I said, swinging my arms nonchalantly.

"Yeah, I know right. What'd you say to her, Dani?"

"I told her you were a rapist."

"Oh, shit, you did not."

"Oh, shit, I so did."

"Why?"

"You told me to fucking piss off. Twice."

"I did not-"

"Yes you did-"

"Well either way I forgive you for this offense-"

"How fucking kind of you-"

"It is, it really is-"

"Learn some fucking manners-"

"I'm going to have a hard time getting past this, Dani-"

"Yeah, have a party while you do-"

"But a kiss would make this allllll better," George cut his eyes towards me teasingly.

"You've been fraternizing with the enemy. There is no reward for such a deed."

"Aw, c'mon, not one little smooch?"

"George, you can go fuck yourself."

"With pleasure. Germany's looking like it's gonna be a pretty good fraternizing territory, huh?"

"Yeah. You lose your cigarettes?" Frank replied, deciding to not let me reply to that one. That was probably wise. I hadn't known Frank was a fucking wise man in disguise.

"Yeah. But hey, Dani's smiling."

"So glad to have pleased you, Luz," I replied sarcastically, "perhaps now the world will be perfect."

**...**

**March 12, 1945:**

"You're not jealous, are you?"

"No, I'm not jealous. Why would I be jealous, George? I'm not jealous."

"I don't know. It's just you've been acting-"

"Pissed? Well, you kinda told me to go piss off-"

"I did not-"

"TWICE-"

"What, you were counting-"

"It takes a lot for a girl to forget that kind of stuff-"

"Well, fuck, I'm sorry-"

"Yeah, you better be-"

"I was only trying to make you fucking jealous-"

"Well, that's just fucking-"

"Yeah, sorry, won't happen again-"

"I should hope not, it didn't work in your favor-"

"I'M FUCKING SORRY-"

"YOU'RE FUCKING FORGIVEN-"

"Does that mean I get a kiss-"

"Fuck, no, George. Fuck, no."

"Just thought I'd ask," he took a quick peek at me and then cleared his throat. "So we good now?"

"Yeah. We're fucking squared."

"Oh. And Shifty found your lighter."

**...**

Perco loved me so fucking much, he decided to make me promise to be on outpost with him, watching the goings-on - oh, is there something out of place in that statement? Yeah, there _weren't_ any goings-on. We sat on our asses and were bored as hell.

Still, it was better than the other places we had been where we couldn't sleep for the cold and the shelling combined to make a frozen hell.

But while we were waiting for our turn to take the field, we had the immense pleasure of sitting on hard chairs in the sun and listening to Nixon give us a _Current Events_ lecture just because he loved me even more fucking much than Perco did.

Joy.

"I'm sure you'll all be happy to know _Oklahoma's_ still playing on Broadway."

"AAAAAAAAY." George exclaimed. He and I exchanged glances and then we both launched into the chorus, leading off the rest of the men into a beautiful melody of - well, disharmony belted at the top of their lungs.

"Okkkklahoma, where the wind comes sweeping down the plains, and the waving wheat can sure smell sweet when-" George made a cutting motion above his head and the men stopped singing all at once, leaving O'Keefe (replacement) to sing; "the wind comes right behind the rain."

His singing voice was probably higher than _mine._

Just saying.

"O'Keefe, are you sitting on your bayonet there?" Christenson asked. Luz and I were practically rolling in our chairs laughing. "Why don't you leave the singing to Luz?"

"Hey, unless you wanna do like, uh, _Surrey With A Fringe On Top_, O'Keefe, that could be good-" Luz suggested, waving his cigarette around as he talked.

"Awwwwh." Nix moaned as he stared at his clipboard. "Rita Hayworth's getting married."

"Ooooohhhh, Rita, say it isn't true," George dramatized undramatically. "But on the other hand, Dani here has volunteered to become our very own personal-"

"Fucking shut up, Luz!" I laughed. "Before you find yourself in a hole with dirt being shoveled on top of you."

"I'm shaking," he replied, his eyes laughing at me. I felt a surge of warmth from the tips of my toes to the tips of my ears. It was un-fucking-believeable - one day, he's trying to make me jealous because I helped another guy get laid. The next day, I really couldn't give a fuck and we're in perfect sync with our jokes, just like we were every fucking day. Oh, did I mention the tingly feelings of happiness that I got just looking at him and his sparkling eyes?

Like I said, un-fucking-believeable.

Finally, it came time for our duty, and I left; on my way, I tousled a few heads of hair - making sure to get Liebgott's, just to piss him off a little - and then we were off to go relieve Hashey and Garcia; just Perco, the replacement named O'Keefe or some shit like that, and I, off to conquer the... well, just conquer.

A jeep rumbled past us on our way to the outpost, a voice crying out to Perco, asking him how he was doing. Perco's only response was a good-humored grin.

"So when do you think we're gonna jump into Berlin, see some real action?" O'Keefe's young, high voice piped up. Shit. His vocal chords sounded like they hadn't matured past the kindergarten stage.

"You in a rush?" Perco's good mood vanished. He was already scowling and we weren't even to the outpost yet. I had a feeling that my expression mirrored his exactly.

FUCK, KID, KEEP YOUR TRAP SHUT IF YOU WANT TO LIVE. ISN'T THAT THE FIRST LESSON YOU LEARN IN BASIC?

Apparently not.

"No," O'Keefe replied, puzzled as to why exactly Perco and I would _not_ want to jump into Berlin.

"So, what, you wanna go home and get a Congressional Medal of Honor or something?" 

"No, I just thought I'd ask."

"Yeah, well, why don't you do us all a favor; don't think."

"I've seen enough real fucking action," I muttered to Perco quietly.

"Damn replacements," he replied.


	35. 9: Why?

**A/N:** Thank you, _**AivieEnchanted, Intersec, EmmyMK, hickchic09, Ryuu Miyori, Tears and Rage, Horsesareamazing, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, CP2girls, Lift the Wings, BandOfBrothersFan (), ActiveIngredient, Dulcea Viata, , littlebabydevon, Kelly Belle, HeadbangGirl, fallnightsandbrightlightsxo, **_and _**PassionPit**_. You guys are phenomenal. I am so so so sorry it took me so long to update; if you respond as amazingly as you did last chapter, I swear to you that my update will be sooner. The uplifting of the reviews after the last chapter is really the only reason that I'm updating even now.

I have to say, the death of Winters shocked me beyond belief. I guess I always looked up to him as someone who is everlastingly immortal. RIP, Major Richard Winters. :(

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**Chapter 35 ****- Why?**

Garcia and Hashey were very happy to see us when we arrived to relieve them of their duties, that Irish replacement fast on our heels. Garcia had just been sipping something out of his cup - and immediately throwing it out - while cursing in his native tongue. Hashey, the sensitive one, had been reading.

The outpost wasn't exactly as glamorous as the name implies. It was just a pile of sandbags heaped a little higher than waist-heighth to form into a square with one side missing, over which there was erected - by means of very sophisticated, very tall sticks and a cloth - a type of covering, protection from the sun. Besides this, we had a few crates for a sort of table, on which there was set two tin cups.

On the opposite side of the non-sided-side-of-the-square, there was set a machine gun with a pretty necklace of ammunition strung up and ready to be fired, in the odd case that we actually saw some action. It was unlikely as hell - to which place I hoped there wouldn't be actual action because I hadn't been getting the best sleep ever.

"Hallelujah," Garcia praised the high heavens when he laid eyes on us as we scrambled across the ditch seperating this piece of beauty from the road.

"'Bout time!" Hashey exclaimed, scrambling to his feet and beginning to correct any trace of himself he had left behind so Perco and I didn't complain about having to clean up someone's shit.

"Yeah, well, consider yourselves lucky; Nixon was giving another Current Events lecture," Perco replied, taking off his helmet.

"And you know those things are just so riveting, you're lucky that we dragged ourselves away to relieve you guys at all," I added in the sarcastic way that I do.

"So, tell me nothing's happening," Perc continued, ignoring any and all Distractions by Dani there may be surrounding him.

"Nothing's happening," Garcia affirmed. "Couple artillery rounds at dawn, probably from across the river, but that's about it. Spooked Hashey, though!"

That wasn't so hard to do in the first place...

"Here," Hashey said, hitting Perco on the arm with the book he was holding in his hand and handing it to him when Perco turned around, "just finished it."

"Yeah? Any sex in it?" 

"Ain't that kind of book." Hashey finally got his shit together and turned to leave. "See ya."

"Yeah, see ya," Perco muttered absently. I caught a glimpse of the title; _A Tree Grows in Brooklyn_.

Could you get any _less_ Sex-Ed than that? I doubted it very highly.

I settled down, lying on top of the sandbags, hand propped on chin, so I could read over Perc's shoulder. Being rather accustomed to this, he didn't say anything, until -

_Clatter. Clatter. Whoops, there goes the cup. Bang. Clatter. Rattle-rattle-rattle. Thump. Thunk. Thump._

"Hey O'Brian," Perc said, looking up from his book to where O'What's-His-Name was knocking over cups, resetting up them up, and knocking them over again. "Relax, would you? I'm trying to read."

"It's O'Keefe," said The-Kid-Who-Liked-To-Make-Noise, turning, making another thump, and then going over to the machine gun. Oh, shit, shit, shit, we were going to DIE, he was going to be touching a machine gun. EVERYBODY HIDE.

"Is that right?" Perc asked, sarcastically pretending he really cared and waiting for O'I-Forgot-His-Name-Again to realize that he really actually didn't.

"Yeah," O'_Snapples_-What-_Was_-His-Name replied, not understanding, "Patric O'Keefe; my friends call me Paddy."

Click. Click. He was checking the gun's magazine. This couldn't be good. Maybe he was going to pull the trigger as an experiment to see whether or not the gun was real or just a stunt double.

Ching. Ching. CHA-CHING. He cocked it and began aiming down the sights.

It was going to blow. I was practically quaking in my paratrooper boots. I had a really bad feeling about this; the last time a replacement had been on an outpost and had a gun in his hands, Lieuteniant Norman Dike had happened to Easy Company.

_I DON'T WANT TO DIE YET, MOMMY, I'M TOO YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL!_

"Hmm-hmm-hmm-hm-hm-hm-hm-hmm-hmm-hm-hmmmm," hummed a three-year-old's voice. "Hm-hm-hmm-hmm-hmm-hm-hm-hm-hm-hmm-hmmmm. Hm-hm-hm-hm-hm-hm-hmhm-hm-hm-hmhm-hm-hmhmhm-hm-hm-"

Oh my shit. Was he humming _She'll Be Coming 'Round The Mountain_?

"Hey, O'Brian." Perco said in his most polite Perco manner. "SHUT UP."

"I told you, it's O'Keefe," the kid replied, as if Perco was supposed to apologize for not remembering his name. I sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the sandbags and leaning up against them, next to where Perc was sitting his ass on the ground. I wasn't about to be lying down for what was coming next.

Perco had had enough. I could see it in his eyes and the set of his jaw; this kid needed a talking and regardless of whether or not Hashey and Garcia were even a football field away yet - which they weren't - Perco was going to set things straight. Because this kid just would not. Fucking. Shut. Up.

"Do you know why no one remembers your name?" Perco asked rhetorically. "It's 'cause no one wants to remember _your_ name. There's too many Smiths, DiMattos, and O'Keefes, and O'Brians, who show up here, replacing _Toccoa_ _men _who you dumb replacements got killed in the first place. And they're all like you; they're all piss'n'vinegar, 'Where the Krauts at? Lemme at 'em. When will I get to jump into Berlin?' Two days later, there they are; with their blood'n'guts hanging out, screaming for a medic, beggin' for their gahdamn mother. Them dumb fucks don't know they're dead yet."

O'Keefe, with his face wearing an expression of part hurt, part _I-don't-want-to-hear-this_, began to turn back around, but Perco slapped his arm, making him turn back and face Perco's flaming eyes.

"Hey. You listening to me?" Perco was only getting started. "Do you understand this is the best part of the fucking war I've seen? I got hot chow, hot showers, warm bed; _Germany _is almost as good as being home! I even got to wipe my ass with real toilet paper today! So quit asking about when you gonna see some real action, will ya? _And stop with the fucking love songs_!"

O'Keefe's eyes had been opened. Perco, as soon as he had stopped speaking, realized what he had done; you could literally see the anger drain out of him as he threw his non-Sex-Ed book down in exasperation. He almost looked as though he resented O'Keefe for making him feel bad about blowing up.

He grabbed the binocs and began to scan across the river, glancing at O'Keefe a few times before giving him a hard, long look. O'Keefe just looked straight ahead, wearing the expression of a boy who had just gotten his dreams torn out of his hands.

"When you ship out? Few weeks ago?" 

"Yeah."

"It's been two years since I seen home. Two years. This fucking war."

Startled, O'Keefe's head swiveled to look at him and then, when Perco didn't look at him, me. I just shrugged with a pathetic little smile plastered across my face for lack of something witty to say. O'Keefe had never really thought about our being away from home, I realized now; he'd simply thought of the stars on our jumpwings, the unit citations, the reputation we had gained.

"Technically," I said to ease the heavy silence, "_She'll Be Coming 'Round the Mountain_ isn't a love song. It's actually a-"

"Shuddup, Dani," Perc interrupted, settling back down to read his book without even throwing me a cursory glance.

"You know you love me, Perc. Don't pretend you don't."

**...**

I had just been walking out of a building - the very same building that happened to be the Officer's Building of Relaxation And Quarterlyness - and almost literally ran into a very firmly muscular chest as I skidded to a halt right before I upset the gleaming silver tray piled with silver candelabras that said Very-Firmly-Muscular-Chest Man was carrying in his large and very capable hands.

"Heeeeeey, Ron," I exclaimed, smiling up at him as I squinted against the sunlight reflecting off of the silver platter. "Long time no talk."

"Dani," he looked at me for a second before clearing his throat and saying, "are you going to block the doorway all day?"

"By all means, yes," I replied, covering up the fact that I hadn't really noticed I was standing in the doorway. "How's life?"

"Dani."

"Yes, sir, shit, sir, do I gotta bow, sir," I drawled sarcastically as I moved out of the doorway. It was nice to know he hadn't changed much.

"So, how _is_ life?" I asked, watching him continue on inside from where I stood, now leaning on the doorframe.

"Oh, you know. Been running 'round Germany trying to find Krauts," his reply was tossed back over his shoulder as he walked to the banistered stairs and my eyes wandered around the room for what was probably the twentieth time that day. There was cream paper on the walls and the place smelled of cleanliness. "How about you?"

The entrance room was fairly rectangular; stairs were practically the centerpiece of the room, considering they dominated most of the room. There was an entrance to the dining area on the left side.

"Hm?" I was jerked back to the state of mind of paying attention by his inquiry after my state of mind. It was rather odd that he should ask. He didn't ask things unless he actually wanted to know. "It's funny that we've been doing the same thing, Ron; running around Germany, trying to find Krauts."

He just looked at me.

"Okay, fine," I huffed in exasperation, "I haven't been getting the best sleep; I've been having the worst dreams about my mother and it feels like I'm in a cage."

"Love, right?" The sunlight glinted in his blue eyes as it streamed from the window that was located somewhere at the top of the stairs, out of sight from my point of view.

"Yes, O All Observant One," I snarked. "His name's-"

"George Luz."

"Ah, you asshole, you've known me too long."

"I wouldn't have to," he said, coming down off the stairs and walking back towards me slowly after putting down the tray. "It's all over you."

"That's so comforting," I replied, looking away from his piercing eyes. Geezus, I felt like I was under scrutiny. Oh, wait, _never mind._

"What's wrong, Dani?"

The silence that fell between us was deafening. He wanted to know. He actually wanted to know. Ron Speirs, the ever observant one, had noticed something was wrong and he wanted to know.

Oh, that asshole, he wouldn't take no for an answer if I hit him on the head with an iron pan and shouted it at the top of my lungs; _NO, I WILL NOT TELL YOU!_

"Everyone's going to die," I admitted. "When I look at people, I only see the ways they could die. The new faces, the replacements... I've seen too much war. I'm tired of being here; I'd like to go to bed and never wake up from a black and dreamless sleep, but my sleep is perveated with a dream that I want to escape; it's like artillery, you know? You don't want it and yet it comes anyway, imbedding itself exactly where it would hurt the most."

For once, Ron Speirs didn't know what to say. And what could he say? I had just agreed to his analogy that everyone would die in the end. What did he have to disagree with? And my dream; he didn't know what happened. He didn't know why my eyes were sore from lack of sleep.

He knew all these things; he knew that he didn't know and he knew he had nothing to disagree with. He only looked at me, long and hard, and then his arms surrounded me in a brief embrace of solace. It only lasted a few seconds, but those few seconds amounted to a brief moment in time when Ron Speirs cared - truly cared - about someone's fears.

It was enough. It was all that he could give me and it was all I could ask of him.

"What were you doing in the officer's quarters in the first place?" He questioned, stepping back to a more reasonable distance.

And just like that, I reverted back to myself; Dani, the impenetrable, cheerful ass that I had hidden behind and that I could still hide behind, if only for a little longer. If only for a little longer.

"Oh, you know... Nix wanted to know if I, being the knowledgeable person I am, knew where any Vat 69 was."

"And do you?"

"Finders keepers, Ron," I winked. "You of all people should know that."

_No, I don't, you dumbass. Even if I had, Nix would have swiped it by now. You fearsome idiot..._

As I turned to leave, I heard my name spoken by the same voice that I had been listening to for the past few minutes.

"Three hundred thousand Krauts surrendured and just turned themselves in."

"Oh, really."

We both knew what that meant.

"We're moving out in an hour," he confirmed.

"Oh, shit, I need my shit. Shit," I muttered to myself, turning and leaving him standing there as he absently wondered 'if Dani's mind was in the right place or in the shit-hole, where it usually was.'

**...**

No one likes hurrying to pack; it makes you paranoid that you'll forget something or that the circumstances you would find when your feet touched the ground again would be like Bastogne and you wouldn't have the supplies necessary to properly survive without getting lucky every single day.

Oh, God. Bastogne.

But this was Germany. This was nothing like Bastogne.

So I thought along the train of thought that led past Bastogne as my hands packed the essentials.

"Hey, Dani," Perco's voice yelled from where he had just slammed the front door of the house we had chosen to stay in. He rounded the corner of the hall, coming up upon my room suddenly and having to stop himself with a sudden halt before he ran into me. "Mail."

Oh, God. Mail.

"Hey, thanks, Perco. To what do I owe this great pleasure?" I asked, reaching for the letter his hand had invitingly stretched forth.

"What great pleasure?" 

"You fetching mail for me," I reminded him, tearing it open quickly and scanning the page to find the name and then read the contents very quickly. Oh, God. Oh, GOD.

"-Me being the nice guy I am." Silence passed. I barely noticed. "Dani? You okay?"

"Yeah, Perco," I said, giving him a small and insincere smile before shutting the door in his face. "Just gimme a minute," I added to the empty room, sinking down into a chair and burying my face in my hands as I mentally went back over what the letter had said before lifting it so that my eyes could behold it again.

It was in German. If it was translated, perhaps it would read something like this;

_**My dearest Dani;**_

_**It has been so long. Your aunt finally decided to mail me and tell me of your joining the Army a few months ago, but the letter got lost. After three years, she decides to tell me.**_

_**I've been keeping an eye on things while you've been gone. The typewriter is still the same as when you left it; I've kept it in perfect working condition, just the way you like it.**_

_**Dani, I regret to tell you that this letter is not a social letter that is meant to make you miss home and want to come back; Gery has been unwell. From what your aunt last wrote - which she doesn't do very much, but I think she wanted to leave the task of contacting you to me - he was recovering but he was smitten sick very suddenly. He's been getting better, so don't worry too much. For goodness sakes, young lady, don't you worry too much. He'll be right as rain in little to no time. Just you wait and see.**_

_**Geoff ran off. I found a note one morning, saying that he had gone off to join the war. Keep an eye out for him; if you see him, tell him that I love him. You understand, Dani; you know.**_

_**With love,**_

_**Ada**_

I was tired. Suddenly and unexpectedly, I was tired. Weary. Fatigued. Exhausted. In front of my eyes, Geoff's face flashed. I was frustrated. I had lost friends, loves, people I had never really thought of losing. And the dream; Gery was sick, ill, whatever you wanted to call it. In my dream, Gery was one of those who stared accusingly. Gery was one of the ones who had passed on; one of the ones who no longer needed or wanted me.

This? This was pointless. What the fuck was I even doing there? In Germany? Why had I put myself through all of this?

I had forgotten. I had fought so long, I had forgotten what I was fighting for. Freedom? Strangly enough, freedom is not won on a battlefield. If there was one thing that I had learned, it was that freedom was never free. It must be paid for, often with bloodshed and nights that you stay awake because you don't want to dream those dreams ever again.

There was a rap at the door. 

"Yeah?"

"Can I come in?"

George. I didn't want to see anyone. I didn't want to talk to anyone. He came in when I didn't answer, though. When he saw me, he hesitated in the doorway. I heard the floorboard on which he stood creak and silence.

"We're moving out in a bit. They're pulling the trucks up."

"I know."

At my short and brusque answer, he paused and stood still when he was about to leave.

"You don't have to be like that," he replied finally, sounding wounded. "I was trying to be-"

"Yeah? You were trying to be what, George?" I raised my head out of my hands and stared him down. "You were trying to be? Just fuck off, okay? Just go fuck off."

"Hey. I was trying to be considerate and actually tell you this time, instead of what happened in Haguenau when you had to piss and _incidentally _almost got left behind again."

"What are you saying, George? What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you don't have to be like this!" 

I found myself standing on my feet.

"No, there was something else. You fucking say it, George. YOU FUCKING SAY IT."

"OKAY, FINE, I'LL FUCKING SAY IT," he yelled, advancing a bit more and becoming red in the face as spit flew from his lips as he shouted out the words. "YOU'RE TRYING TO MAKE US BELIEVE THAT YOU COINCIDENTALLY SPEAK FLUENT GERMAN, GOT '_LEFT BEHIND'_ ON D-DAY, AND OH, WHAT'S THIS?" He had spotted the letter. He descended on it quickly, like an eagle going in for the kill. "A LETTER. WRITTEN IN FUCKING GERMAN. Am I supposed to believe that this is a completely harmless letter from your mother, Dani? Your fucking mother writes in German?"

I could feel the blood drain from my face. I had never told him anything about my family; I didn't like to think about it, talk about it, consider it into my plans. I hadn't thought that he needed to look at me differently and talk to me differently.

"And that's what you believe, George?" My voice had sunken low, but not because my anger was draining away and I unconciously jabbed a finger into his chest. I think it hurt me more than it did him, but at the moment, I didn't notice the stabbing pains that had come with almost breaking my finger with the force of shoving it into his solid muscle. "That's what you believe, after - what - three years of serving together in the fucking Airborne? I was at Toccoa, Luz. I was there at Normandy, I got my fucking ear half-blown off, I was there at Holland, where I got a piece of fucking building imbedded in my leg, and I was there at Bastogne. So don't you fucking accuse me of being a German spy until you have fucking proof!"

"I have all the proof that I need, right fucking here!" He waved the piece of paper in my face, the Deutsch characters flapping in and out of my view. "Those Kraut women are more patriotic to the American cause than you are and somehow, you've managed to keep a blindfold over everyone's eyes. But no fucking more."

"What, because they fuck us over and I won't fuck my comrades? Have you ever thought, George, that maybe I'm afraid? I'M FUCKING AFRAID. I finally said it, are you happy? I'm afraid. And I'm not opening myself up to become more and more hurt. And looking at you right now, I think I made the right fucking decision. You think those Krauts are fucking our men because they love our cause and they hate their brothers, their fathers, their fiances, their husbands? I don't think so. They're fucking us because of two reasons; first, they're fucking horny! And you know why that is, George? Because their men are off fighting the gahdamned war against us. Secondly, they think that if they don't fuck us, then our men will take it from them, not even asking for fucking permission. And you know why they think that, and you know why they're so afraid? BECAUSE THEIR MEN HAVE BEEN DOING IT ACROSS HALF OF THE FUCKING WORLD. So if you think that I'm a German spy, then why are you here, George? Why are you still here? Why are _we_ fucking here?"

He didn't say another word. For a moment, he just stood there, his eyes examining my face, and then he turned on his heel and left. I couldn't seem to feel anything. I was simply numb. For the first time in a very long time, my mind was silenced and I would give anything - _anything_ - to have something fill the deafening blackness of soundlessness.

It wasn't until I was finished packing that I realized that he had taken the letter with him.


	36. 9: She Oughta Like That

**A/N:** Dear _**tiggymcc, Lilmonkey1507, AivieEnchanted, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, EmmyMK, booklover1357, gothique4, musicforsanity, Ryuu Miyori, Probang, Tears and Rage, Intersec, invalid3, xXxRainbowxXxStarxXx, littlebabydevon, trevtrev04, CP2girls, HeadbangGirl, Kelly Belle, Domino Fox, Whitetiger77, ruthie-r89, **_and _**hodhod2011danger**_; I don't know what to say, guys. I have an awful week and you guys just make it so much better. I don't understand; it's like you guys know when I need encouragement. This would have been sooner, but like I said, rough week. I'll try to make it sooner this week. PROMISE.

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**Chapter 36**** - She Oughta Like That**

"Lieb."

The call might have echoed across the town's center but for the fact that it was filled with the live bodies of American soldiers, teeming around uncertainly as they prepared to board a truck prematurely.

"Yeah."

For his part, pretty little Liebgott was not expecting too much to happen when he saw Luz waving him over. Maybe a joke or two, a pun about how a lady had been staring. Something to heighten the morale. Such was Luz's code of honor; it seemed as though he had personally pledged to make a man laugh whenever he possibly could.

"Can you translate this?"

Luz's hand held a page, extending it forth to Liebgott like a white flag.

This was a new method of delivery for Luz; usually, it was entirely verbal. In fact, it was _always_ entirely verbal. It was what Luz was known for; his vocal ability to make accurate impressions of jackasses and the sense of humor that he wielded the God-given talent with.

Yes, this was an entirely new way of doing it.

Before he could think about it, Liebgott's slender, pale hand reached forth and snatched the parchment out of Luz's. The only thing that pretty little Liebgott noticed, before he glanced down at the piece of paper with black lettering that he now held in his hand, was the fact that Luz's eyes weren't twinkling.

Something wasn't right.

His near-black eyes scanned through the contents quickly before their dark depths glanced back up at Luz.

"Fuck, man, you're going through Dani's mail?"

**...**

It wasn't quite the response he had been half-expecting, half-dreading.

"Just tell me what the fuck it says," he demanded, his voice coming out sounding as if it had been rubbed harshly up against a cheese grater before it had emerged from his vocal chords.

"Fuck," was Liebgott's reply before he glanced back down at the paper, back up, and finally thrusting it back into Luz's hand. "You asshole."

He left without another word, leaving Luz behind, confused, in the dust kicked up from Liebgott's boots. Another familiar face passed by him twenty feet away, all the way across the square, but it didn't matter as he latched onto the thought of it just as quickly as he had Liebgott's.

"Webster! Webster - fuck - WEBSTER!"

When Webster finally heard and turned to find who was calling his name, Luz was already halfway across the square and stretching out the piece of paper once again.

"Hey, Luz," Webster's large blue eyes fastened onto the parchment, curious as to why exactly Luz was screaming his name in the middle of a town square and waving a piece of paper around frantically.

"Can you translate this?"

"Yeah, sure, Luz," came the reply as Webster's hand recieved the missive. He began to speak the words that he saw without reading it first.

"'-You understand, Dani; you know. With love, Ada...'" Webster glanced up to where Luz was gazing at the ground, his eyebrows furrowed together as he concentrated solely on the words forming on Webster's tongue and dropping out onto the laden air.

"Webster. Luz."

Their two bodies may have jumped a foot in the air, if the height of their starts were combined together. Speirs' cool, icy blue eyes gazed down at them, his expression showing no certain emotion; unreadable, as penetrable as an immovable glacier.

"Sir," they mumbled as one, hastily saluting.

"That's the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard."

What soldiers they were, the soldiers that couldn't believe their ears. How long exactly had Captain Speirs been standing there, unnoticed?

"Beg pardon, sir?"

"I said," he repeated slowly, "that's. The biggest. Load of bullshit. I've ever heard." He looked at them for another moment before glancing to the side and back again in a movement that registered as close to eye-rolling as you could come in the Service. "You don't actually think that Dani's a Kraut spy, do you?"

"I'd like not to, sir-" George began, but Speirs cut him off.

"If you can't trust your comrades, there is no one you can trust, Luz. Remember that," he gave them a final look and walked off, his back straight and tall.

Watching him walk away, it was as though a curtain that had been dropped in front of George's eyes was suddenly lifted. He saw the hurt that had appeared in Dani's eyes as his voice had raised and he had... fuck, what had he _done_? What the fuck had he accused her of?

Shit. Pile of shit. Such a pile of shit. He was such a pile of shit.

**...**

I couldn't seem to feel much. I walked to the bunch of trucks in the square. I slung my bag up. I heard my name called. I turned. I saw Shifty saying my name.

"Yeah, Shif?"

"Someone took your lighter in Haguenau, passed it around. I only found it a few days ago; sorry I couldn't return it earlier." The mentioned item glinted from where it rested in his hand, reflecting the sunlight's clear rays.

"It's all good, Shif," I replied, taking the proffered object and weighing it in my palm, the cool metal of the Zippo bringing back a flood of emotion to my empty shell.

Shifty nodded and continued on his merry way as I tossed the lighter up and down in my hand experimentally. The weight of it and the sound it made as it landed was joyfully familiar. The sun shone down upon this happy scene, glaring into my eyes with all the intensity and heat that the sun usually does. As I squinted against the beams of eye-ruining light, I saw the dust rise up from the ground, the disturbance of such a dry and stagnant creation coming from the impression of boots hitting the ground in a certain set pattern of rhythm.

The men were beginning to fill up in the trucks now, joking to each other about Berlin and taking over all the spoils. Most of these men happened to be replacements; and, oh, how I wished at that moment that they all - every inexperienced son of a bitch of them - had been on the receiving end of Perco's speech, right along with - shit, um. OH - O'Keefe.

The world was not so fortunate, however, and the chatter of the domination of Berlin continued on without interruption.

"Dani."

One singular word spoken by one singular voice had the power to make my entire body go rigid where I still sat in the bed of one of the trucks, my feet dangling off as I still observed the general activity surrounding me.

"What."

"I'm sorry, okay?" His eyes searched mine quickly before his arm extended and he held out the letter to me. "I'm an idiot."

My hands clenched together even as my neck turned so my gaze no longer had to meet his.

"Dani," he repeated, his voice now a pleading whisper. "I don't know what I was thinking. It's just - you haven't been acting like yourself lately and my mind hasn't been working properly and it just came up with something that the real me knew wasn't. Dani. Please."

I'm not quite sure how it really happened; perhaps he suddenly gained mind control abilities and made a certain part of time an entire blur, but somehow I found myself nodding and taking the letter, simply because I now understood why he had done it.

You spend two fucking years away from home. You see the things that we had seen. Your friends start acting differently. You start acting differently. You almost forget who you are.

"Luz. This had better not fucking happen again," I warned him, looking him square in the eye, my gaze full with the promise that if this _did_ chance to happen again, nobody would be very happy.

"It won't." He returned my stare with his own assurance that it sure as hell would _not_ happen again.

Once he was satisfied that I had, in fact, forgiven him and he was back in my somewhat-good graces, George Luz proceeded to find baseball mitt and occupied himself in tossing a baseball up and down, somehow managing to stay near me - I, the genius, who had managed to avoid any and all manual labor while still sitting on the back of a truck - the entire time.

**...**

Crates were stacked miscellaneously in the street, vehicles parked next to these oddly placed boxes so as to make it easier to load them so they could be transported along to wherever-the-hell-we-were-going. Men were swarming the streets, trying to get where they were going before we left them behind.

Above the noise, Nix's voice raised higher than I had probably ever heard it raised; the subject occupying his mind being something about a dog. I hadn't ever known that dogs could get Nix so riled up. Christenson's voice added to the mix, calling to '-go, load it up, come on!'

I stayed calmly seated; even as Garcia struggled with Bull Randleman's bag, even as Ron Speirs walked up as cool as you please, even as Webster winked at me with an unusual air of bravado. I remained seated until Ron asked Perco for a lighter; then - and only then - did I stir myself to my feet, intent with the purpose of getting out of Ron's sight before Perco replied that he didn't smoke and Ron looked to me and said -

"Hey, Dani, lemme see that lighter."

I exhaled such a large sigh that my back rose and fell as I turned back to face Ron from where I had been slinking to the very back of the truck with hopes that he wouldn't notice me.

"Ron. You should know me better than to actually think I smoke! I'm rather off-"

"Dani."

I dug Geoff's lighter out of my pocket with great reluctance; the last time I had loaned it to someone, it had taken what seemed like a month before I finally got it back in my hands.

"Soooo, Ronnie," I drawled, hitching my arm over the side of the truck, the Zippo still secreted in my hand, and staring him down. "Where are we headed?"

"We're going to the Alps. Let me see that lighter."

My hand tossed it down before I could possibly even contemplate disobeying the direct order. Oh, woe is me; I had been in the army too long.

"The Alps?" Perc questioned, attaining a quizzical look upon his olive-colored skin.

"Yeah."

"That near Berlin, sir?" Randleman now took on the questioning mantle as he slung his rifle up upon his shoulder, keeping his hand on the strap even after the action was finished.

"Nope."

Webster, deciding to clarify the situation since Ronald Speirs was so damned ask-me-a-question-and-I'll-give-you-a-single-word-with-only-one-syllable, added; "That's in Bavaria..." managing to have a clueless look on his face even as he continued; "Birthplace of National Socialism."

"Soooo would that mean no drop into Berlin?" George asked, glancing over at me as I finally hopped down from the truck to hear the conversation better, my interest peaked. God. He had beautiful eyes.

"No drop into Berlin," Speirs affirmed. "Hitler had the Waffen SS to hole up in the mountains, repel all the invaders. He wants to start a guerilla war."

A guerilla war? For some strange reason, a large and hairy ape fighting another large and hairy ape came to my currently big-brown-eyes dazed mind.

How nice. I had needed_ just_ that mental image to make my day.

"Invaders," Bull Randleman said, grinning a wide and toothy grin, "damn, I like the sound of that."

"They'll die the last man trying," Speirs told him as Randleman walked away; apparently Ron just couldn't stand the thought of someone having a happy piece of their mind still operating.

When Ron turned to saunter as well while I hopped back into the bed of the truck, I just couldn't let him walk away. When a man has your lighter, you just _don't_ let him walk away.

"Sir," says I.

"What," says he, turning back around.

"My lighter," I reminded him, giving him as much of a death glare as you can give to a superior officer who was - and still was - your childhood friend.

"All right," he looked at it for a moment, weighed it in his hand as if deciding whether or not to give it back to me, and finally tossed it back up to me, saying as he did so; "nice lighter."

_Of course it's a nice lighter, you fucking superior officer; it's mine!_

"Thanks," I replied almost sarcastically, catching it and stowing it safely back in my pocket before turning around and sitting down; Webster then planted himself next to me, O'Keefe sat down next to him, and George placed himself on the seat across from me.

Right before Perco sat his ass down, he turned to O'Keefe and said; "Waffen SS, huh? Hey, looks like you're gonna get your wish after all, O'Flannery; those guys?" He waved his finger around his head. "Fucking crazy."

"It's O'Keefe," muttered O'Flannery with an injured look on his face.

Just then, a very off-key and off-tune version of _Blood Upon the Risers_ began to sound out, marking - with a very entertainingly grim mark - our journey out of the little town we were in, into the great and vast unknown of the Alps.

_-Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die!_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die!_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die!_

_He ain't gonna jump no more._

_The risers wrapped 'round his neck, connectors cracked his dome;_

_Suspension lines were tied in knots around his skinny bones._

_His canopy became a shroud as he hurtled to the ground,_

_And he ain't gonna jump no more._

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die!_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die!_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die!_

_He ain't gonna jump no more._

**...**

The rides in the trucks were long and tiresome; the shaking of the truck made your back ache and your limbs grew exhausted and cramped with staying in one position for so many hours. The only entertainment was the man beside you and the laughs that he could create.

Liebgott was sitting next to me, Webster next to him, George still across from me, Perco on one side - brushing his teeth - and Janovec on his other, reading a newspaper.

Yeah, I was one of the lucky ones; I was in a truck with George Luz.

Liebgott was talking to Webster about how he was going to marry a Jewish girl with great, big, soft titties and a smile to die for; then, he was gonna buy a big house and make a lot of little Liebgotts.

"She oughta like that," he concluded.

I wasn't quite sure if he meant the reference to her bodily virtues, the children all named Liebgott, or the big house.

George My-Fucking-Savior Luz decided to spice things up just a little and leaned over to where Janovec was still intent on his newspaper.

"Hey, Janovec, what you reading?"

"Um. An article," Janovec mumbled after a moment, his answer very revealing indeed.

"No shit." Luz retorted sarcastically. "What's it about?"

Another pause as Janovec read on for a moment before his brain managed to process the query.

"It's about why we're fighting the war. 

"Why are we fighting the war, Janovec?" George pressed, his eyes sparkling with humor at this conversation.

"It seems that the Germans are bad." Janovec replied absently. "Very bad."

"You don't say." George said satiricly, the mischief in his eyes growing tenfold at this latest revelation. "The Germans are bad, huh? Hey, Frank, this guy's reading an article over here; says the Germans," he drew his mouth down, pulling an exaggeratedly serious face, "are bad." His eyes turned to me then, looking at me with a half-smile perched upon his incredible lips. "Learn something new every day, huh?"

Yeah. You could say so. Every fucking day.

I made no reply except a broadly amused smile before my own gaze switched over to beside me, where Liebgott was nearly interrogating Webster about what he would do after the war. Webster replied that he was going back to school, first, and then, uh-

Even if he was going to continue on detailing and planning out his life down to how many kids he would have, he didn't get the chance; Liebgott cut him off, incredulously questioning that Webster hadn't even finished school yet? He'd been talking about Harvard this, Harvard that all that time, and he'd never even finished?

"For one thing, I haven't told you anything," Webster bristled fiercely before conceding. "Yes, yes, I haven't finished. So the fuck what?"

Shit. Webster was taking serious offense; he never cursed. Well, almost never. Occasionally, yes, but not...

"All right, Web, breath a little. Geezus. Fuck." Liebgott looked away for a moment, then in his eyes there appeared the decision to explain himself. "It's just the way you always talked, you know. We all figured that.." He trailed off when he realized that the decision to explain himself was entirely pointless. "Hey, you know what, you're right; so the fuck what."

The only sound that filled the air was the sound of trucks rumbling over the dirt roads and into the dust kicked up by the tires of the truck in front of them.

Webster tried to apologize at the same time that Liebgott tried to brush off the silence by asking Webster what he had studied. Then everything was okay.

You could never stay mad at your brother. It was entirely pointless; nothing remained if you pushed away your brothers. It was a simple fact of Easy Company.

My mind conveniently chose that moment to zone out, thinking back to the times back when I thought I had everything almost figured out. If only I had known.

Now, I would almost kill to touch my typewriter again, to be able to lift my voice in song without attracting stares, to hug Geoff, to push the figures across a chess board, to see possessions that I knew actually belonged to me; to know that I was finally home. Home.

Home, at long last; home.

I wanted to hear children's laughter. I wanted to feel someone's arms around me. After having everything uncertain and not knowing anything for three years except the gun in my hands and the knowledge that I could die any day that God Almighty decided my life would end, I was ready to know something or another.

I wanted to make a home comfortable. I wanted to wake up in bed with someone in my arms. I wanted to have a home of my own, for once, with material possessions and people; I wanted to think of my home and think of welcoming arms, a warm fireplace, and the chatter of happy voices.

And above all, I was tired of war. Dear God, I was sick of war; war, with its blood, hunger, hatred, death. War in all of its' glories.

"What about you, Dani?" Liebgott's voice - and elbow - jolted me out of my absorbing mindless train of thoughts.

"Huh," was the very intelligent response that came flying out of my mouth in such a witty manner.

"After the war."

"Get married," I blurted the correct answer before thinking over the wisdom of saying the truth.

"Anyone in mind?" Liebgott nudged me again suggestively. I didn't laugh though; for some strange reason, my eyes darted to George before I realized that he was staring at me intently, almost as if he wanted to know the answer.

"No," I said as I quickly looked away, wondering why it felt like a lie was coming out of my mouth as I added; "no one in particular."

"Well, if no one comes along," Liebgott nudged me once again, this time sending a wink my way as well, "then give me a call sometime, yeah?"

My mouth opened and laughter flew out.

"Liebgott, you're forgetting something."

"What's that?"

"I'm not Jewish."

"What are you, anyways?" He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and began the long and interesting process of getting it lit. "Religion-wise."

"Pentacostal."

"Holy shit, no wonder you're a strange dame."

My laughter sounded out through the air once again.

**...**

**The next day:**

We had stopped for the night to get some sleep, kicking a few natives out of their houses so we could actually sleep in beds. But now; now we were watching the 300,000 Krauts go past as we went in the opposite direction on our trucks.

They marched past us, straight files, heads held high, their feet falling together with the absent unity that comes with brothership in combat. They had fought, lived, and died together; now they were surrenduring together.

Suddenly, Webster - of all people to explode - rose from his seat in the truck and began to yell.

"Hey, you! HEY! YOU! THAT'S RIGHT! YOU STUPID KRAUT BASTARDS, THAAAT'S RIGHT! SAY HELLO TO FORD! AND GENERAL FUCKING MOTORS! YOU STUPID FASCIST PIGS! LOOK AT YOU! YOU HAVE _HORSES_! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?"

Garcia pulled him down by the ends of his jacket right as my ears were beginning to ring, saying; "That's enough, Webster. Give it a rest."

"Dragging our asses halfway around the world," Webster continued in a monotone after he rubbed his face slowly in frustration, his voice beginning to rise again as he went on; "Interrupting our lives, FOR WHAT? YOU IGNORANT, SERVILE SCUM; WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE DOING HERE? HUH?"

His words made sense in my addled mind, even as I tried to close my eyes and ignore the words he was speaking. But there the truth lay; I didn't know what the fuck I was doing there. I didn't know why the fuck the world had been turned to fucking chaos by a single man named Adolf Hitler. I didn't know why people had to fucking die unnecessarily.

I didn't know why I was there.

**...**

Only about an hour later, we rolled into a small town. We were almost immediately sent out on a patrol; of course you can guess who was ordered - or rather, _politely requested_ by a superior officer - to go.

That's how I found myself in a bunch of woods, Christenson in the lead. In my admirable company, there were Randleman, Perco, O'Keefe, George, and one other man.

There wasn't much talking except George asking me if he could use my lighter, until Bull looked at O'Keefe, took off his helmet, and tapped him on the arm with it even as he smoked his cigar.

"O'Keefe-"

"Sarge," O'Keefe replied instantaneously, before Bull had even finished saying O'Keefe's name.

"Why the hell you so jumpy, boy?" 

"I'm not jumpy," O'Keefe protested, his squeaky voice just as high as it had been the week before.

"Shit," Bull scoffed, "you can hear your heart pounding in Arkansas, boy."

"Geezus," Christenson said, turning around with a smile on his face that argued with his next words; "give the kid a break, Bull."

The trees above us were tall; very, very tall. There were pine needles and small branches underneath our feet that crackled slightly as our feet landed upon them.

"Hey, George," Perco finally said. 

"Yeah?"

"Kinda remind you of Bastogne?"

George gave the back of Perco's helmet a strange look, since he couldn't see Perco's face, finally replying with a very sarcastic; "Yeah, now that you mention it. Except, of course, there's no snow. We got warm grub in our bellies."

"And," I added, "the trees aren't fucking exploding from Kraut artillery."

"But yeah, Frank," George continued where I left off as our feet sped up slightly and we passed Frank as we walked onwards, "other than that, it's a lot like Bastogne."

"Right?" Frank said, not understanding the meaning of the word sarcasm.

"Bull, smack him for me, please?" George called backwards. THUNK. "Thank you."

_Like Bastogne, my ass._

I stole George's cigarette and took a draw, handing it back to him only to find him staring. I didn't have time to ask if he was going to pull a joke about there being something on my face or not; O'Keefe made a very bright observation; "It sure is quiet."

"He is right, fellas," Perco added.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," I snorted in derision before I realized exactly how quiet it was. It was the quiet that descends when someone is listening for a cry for help or a plea for a medic. It was the quiet that awaits you when you are walking into a deadly trap. It was an unearthly quiet; one that is unnatural and out of place when heard.

It was a deadly quiet.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention as Christenson's closed fist raised, signaling for us to halt. Automatically, my finger cocked my gun, readying it to fire, if it came to that.

Christenson gestured for us to move on and we did so, now more slowly and cautiously.

I could see the light up ahead, blindingly announcing the abrupt end of the treeline. As we reached this ending of our duel coverage and doom, the sun glared down into my eyes and dust arose as the wind kicked up before our very feet.

Our eyes widened; our guns dropped from where they had been standing at attention.


	37. 9: Watching the World Burn

**A/N:** An extraordinary thanks to; _**AivieEnchanted, Volleyball Babe22, tiggymcc, Tears and Rage, Horseareamazing, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, Kelly Belle, Intersec, gothique4, littlebabydevon, Ryuu Miyori, Audrey Jenkins, musicforsanity, **_and_** KatAngel16**_; this chapter really... wow. Writing it made me feel so empty.

Please, please guys; it would be _greatly _appreciated if you Read and Reviewed. I cannot tell you how much it would mean to me if you would leave some input on this chapter. Please?

**Chapter 37 ****- Watching the World Burn**

_Some people just want to watch the world burn._

_(Clash of the Titans)_

**...**

In the backs of our minds, perhaps we would all like to believe that if, in our lifetime, we witnessed something truly despicable - so despicable, inhumane, and cruel that every functioning nerve in our body would scream to run away from the horror as fast as our body allowed - we would stand strong; we would not turn our backs.

The truth is that when I slowly awoke to myself, I found myself sitting cross-legged on the ground, my face turned towards the woods, knowing that I didn't want to look back over my shoulder because I had the most awful feeling that if I did chance another look at what had become of human compassion, I wouldn't be able to keep it together.

I didn't remember sitting down on the ground. All I remembered was that I had come out of the trees, stopped, stared, turned to Christenson and, seeing the blankness on his face, had turned to Perco and said; 'Perc, run back, find Speirs or Winters, bring them back here. What're you still standing there for? Get your ass moving!' _And hurry, Perc; for God's sakes, hurry._

So there we sat, the air heavy with unbroken silence, waiting for someone who knew what the hell they were looking at to come heroically galloping on a white horse out of the trees.

Or at least someone who could _pretend_ they knew what the hell they were looking at, even if they weren't riding on a white horse and they didn't come heroically galloping out of the trees.

Finally, the rumble of trucks and jeeps approaching from the distance filled my eardrums, but I couldn't gather the will-power to move or pull myself to my feet; the suspicion of insanity still loomed over my head like a giant cloud.

But in times such as these, insanity was not the biggest of our issues or our worries. Insanity was on the bottom of the pile, the very lowest of the low, the sewer in comparison to the city.

So as we sat and watched the vehicles pull up and as we saw the expressions flash across each soldier's face as he looked upon the sight that we had beheld when first we had peeked through the branches of the woods; we still sat there, not being able but to think of the exact same moment that we had experienced.

The first thing that hit you was the stench; when confronted with a smell that reeks of burning flesh, you automatically assume without looking that you will be greeted with a pile of dead bodies and bullets flying through the air that are fully prepared to penetrate your every physical defense and cause you to beg for mercy with horror evident in your voice, if your voice was even still operating functionally. Horror; the air was rank with it. There was not a single bird, a single whisp of wind, a single whisper.

The second thing you noticed was the visual impact; skinned trees had been stuck in the ground and strung with barbed chicken-fence wire to make a barrier between us and them.

Them.

They were ragged, torn beings with no soul or hope left to bring them comfort; they clung to the fence that was their destruction, their skin ashen, their only clothes dirty striped rags that hung on their skeletal forms, often with a yellow, six-pointed star on their left breast.

There were two fences; one, on the outside, had a gate opening out. The second, on the inside, was chained and padlocked. With a few quiet murmurs of command, the chain was cut; the gate began to swing inwards, giving us entrance into their nightmare.

With the gate no longer obstructing view, the scene behind the pressing bodies was evident, and in one moment, I knew exactly why I was there.

They stared with a dazed disbelief; _free. Freedom. Saviours_. I could read it in their eyes clearly, even as they began to press against us, grabbing onto our jackets and uniforms as if to make sure that we were not apparitions, ghosts, imaginated up from the grave of one's forbidden past.

They staggered, weak. Noticing some bodies laying in the dirt nearby, the panorama obstructed by the crowd of bodies surrounding me, I began to press through the insistent hands of the helpless souls; it was only when I cleared the mass that I realized that this was not the worst.

Oh, dear God, this was not the worst.

Huts were constructed, built half into and half out of the ground; chimneys stuck out of the roofs like a scarecrow amongst a crowd of doves. Out of these miserable dwellings, beings were crawling out. Living beings, human beings; tortured beings.

They were so feeble, their limbs could not support them; their bodies descended quickly, quickly down to the earth as they tried to stumble towards us, towards their salvation. The smoke tumbling out of the scarecrows poured out onto them, obscuring the vision except for a few scarce details that were raised unto the sky with harsh reality. It was out of this smoke that they fell so hopelessly, some dying on the spot from weakness, some crawling when they could not walk to us.

As more and more approached, the lack of winter clothes became more and more obvious; some did not even have a scrap on their backs, one cloth or stitch to call their own. And those without such covering; they limped along, their eyes downcast as if ashamed of the lack of flesh, the lack of skin left upon their bones. Their ribs stretched tight against their body's shell, painfully tight, so that I wondered if every breath was full of pain.

One man carried a wax statue of an old man in his arms; his skin once healthy but now rotting, his figure once full but now I was able to count every bone and muscle in his body. I thought him dead until his papery eyelids fluttered open with the weak fragility that signals the last vestiges of hope; the dredges of a heart once full.

"Geezus, Web," George's voice murmured from beside me, "can you believe this place?"

"No," Webster replied numbly, his blue eyes staring in disbelief.

"My God."

Without realizing, I reached out to George's hand, wrapping my fingers around his in desperation; I needed to know that I wasn't alone, somehow. In the very pits of my soul, there screamed a need to realize that we weren't, none of us, alone.

His appendages tightened around mine reassuringly, drawing me closer to his side as we continued on slowly, our footsteps stumbling and shocked against the unforgivingly firm and barren earth.

Leading on a 'conversation' in German, Liebgott was talking to a man who was doing his best to explain to the officers, to help us soldiers to understand why they were there.

Why?

"-Says it's a work camp for... **unerwuenshcter**. I'm not sure what the word means. Unwanted, disliked, maybe?"

"Criminals?" Nixon questioned, his nearly black eyes now bottomless, empty pits.

"I don't think criminals, sir. **Verbrecher?**"_ Criminals?_

"**Verbrecher? Nein. Nein." **_Criminals? No. No._ The man shook his head, beginning to speak again as Liebgott translated for the listening ears of the officers.

"No. Doctors, musicians, tailors, clerks, farmers, intellectuals. I mean, normal people."

"**Juden. Juden. Juden.**"

Liebgott froze; his tongue finally flicking out to wet the very inside of his rosy lips in disbelief and shock.

"Jews," he said finally. "Poles and Gypsies."

The man spoke once again, his words crumbling into each other. Liebgott's dark, dark eyes stared at him, trying to understand, to believe exactly what he was hearing, asking in German to; "**Langsamer, bitte, langsamer**," _slow down, please, slow down_.

The man repeated, more clearly, more understandably, more devastatingly. One more question; one more equally tearing answer. The man began to sob, turning away as he let his wails begin to seep up into the heavens.

"Liebgott?" Winter's voice asked, unsure.

"The women's camp is at the next railroad stop."

My feet carried me away, out of hearing; the more I saw, the more I wanted to shut my eyes. The more I heard, the more I wanted to flee. The more I saw, the more I heard, the more tears welled into my eyes.

Horror upon horror waited for discovery as we ventured further and further into the 'camp.' Bodies burning in ditches, their right arms stamped with a serial number; identification to the sons of bitches who didn't care enough to let them continue breathing. In the huts, sickly bodies lay on shallow shelves beside already dead shells of what had once been a human. Dead bodies, waiting to be burned; bodies, bodies, bodies. A boxcar was found, its only contents rotting carcasses. The only food to be found was a few buckets of discolored water with dippers; perhaps ill-intentioned broth or grain water.

Trucks left and came back, bearing food and water for the prisoners, whose hands groped desperately at the morsels that we could provide, grabbing at them as a little bird must when its mother feeds its' fledgling the first worm of the new creation's life.

Sink came in his Jeep; he stood to the side with two other men and a radio, listening intently to something on the other end of the transmitter. They called Winters over, talking to him for a few minutes before he, in turn, called Liebgott back over.

I, from my position of handing out the bread from the delivery truck, watched carefully even as my hands moved when Liebgott climbed into the bed of the truck, gave me a look, and stilled the motion of my distilling hand with one of his own.

With a loud voice crying out, he made the announcement that the prisoners had to stay in the camp so they could be ministrated medicine and proper care. When they protested vehemently, his teeth nearly clenched together as his jaw set in an attempt to stay collected as he continued.

As his part in this marvelous play ended, his body slumped to the seat in defeat, no longer conscious of the way his people milled about in strong objection. His head found its way into his hands and he, Joe Liebgott, began to cry.

I sat beside him, putting my arm around him and gathering him into me, feeling him give way to the comfort that only a woman could give; the same comfort that he would never have accepted before.

Conquered beings, we were; as conquered as the men we had discovered dying. Conquered, supressed, subdued; moreso than fighting any other living thing could have made us.


	38. 10: And So It Was

**A/N:** Everlasting thanks is due to; _**Kelly Belle, gothique4, Tears and Rage, Ryuu Miyori, Intersec, mysterious victoria, CP2girls, PrincessPoisonx3, musicforsanity, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, littlebabydevon, Lilmonkey1507, lizzy (), CoCo-Rocha-94, AivieEnchanted, **_and _**geek'd**_.

I am so, so sorry for the lateness of this. It's been a whirlwind recently and I barely even know how to think or speak, let alone write. I would give you an explanation but it's not my explanation to share. I'm astounded that I am even updating now; I have to thank you guys for that. Hearts&all that.

I have to warn you; we have reached the end of the series. Yes, I am continuing on with this story since, obviously, you don't have an ending quite yet; believe me, I fully intend to update much faster than before. But to be honest, the Reviews are the only thing that make me update. Knowing that I have readers - and hearing from them - are the only things that have truly kept me together. I know I have said it before and I shall probably say it many, many times again; thank you. Thank you, so much, I simply cannot express it.

R + R.

**Chapter 38**** - And So It Was**

Life moves on; from something wonderful or terrible alike, the train of Life never slows down. You either jump on and keep up, however affected you are, or you are left, dazed, by the tracks.

And so it was, as it always is.

We soon found ourselves in Thalem, transported once again through Germany and, when we arrived, we found Thalem to be yet another small town. I knew this, of course, but I did not wish to remember, and so let myself pretend that I had never been to the village-like community that now smoked in literal ruins.

The mood was somber, perhaps; we set the people to cleaning up the wreckage that littered and blocked the streets. They, none of them, said a word to each other as they went about their business as a team, handing off salvageable items to each other. A few of the citizens produced instruments, sat around a pile of bricks that had been gathered in the cobblestone path, and began to play their art, softly, beautifully, sadly.

We; Webster, Bull, George, Liebgott, Perco, and I, we stood or sat at the edge of a wall that had once been whole; a wall that happened to face the street, a wall that had been bombed out and was now just as wrecked as the town, a wall that now made a comfortable perching spot for soldiers as they surveyed the situation. This was the one same wall that we now utilized, putting our feet up or resting our legs.

"I'll tell you one thing 'bout the Krauts," George broke the solemn and watchful silence as he talked around the cigarette perched between his lips, "they sure clean up good."

"Yeah," Liebgott's silky voice replied. "All you need's a little Mozart."

"Beethoven," says I, but only to realize that my voice had been twinned with another, a more vocally masculine version of the name that I had just spoken. Nix had joined us, the now ever-present searching expression still in his eyes, although he did not seem to be looking at any particular soul.

"Sorry, sir?" Liebgott's eyes looked up to him as Nix passed him, going to the front of the wall to stand next to me where I was sitting on the edge next to George despite the men's protest that I would probably fall and break my idiot neck.

"That's not Mozart; that's Beethoven," Nix clarified. "I'm surprised you knew that, Dani."

We simply stayed there in silence for a moment, listening to the haunting melody that floated through the air and penetrated your mind with a proclamation of sorrow. A jeep pulled up and stopped on the street below us, the man getting out and walking off.

"Hitler's dead," Nix abruptly announced, his eyes finally finding mine as I glanced backwards at him.

"Holy shit," Liebgott breathed in his soft tones of chocolate.

"Shot himself in Berlin."

_Does this mean-?_

"Is the war over, sir?" Bull Randleman's articulation of the question jogging in frantic circles in my head made me catch my breath, waiting.

We had been waiting for some time, it seemed, but not for Nix's reply; we had been waiting to go home, to be done with this entire affair.

"No," Nix turned back to the scene in front of him, his chest heaving a weary sigh before he continued; "we have orders to Berchtesgaden. We're gonna move out in one hour." He gestured over his shoulder, towards the door, with his thumb, bearing the expression of a man who had been travelling much in the past few months of his life.

"Why?" Webster's plaintive inquiry came immediately. "The man's not home."

There wasn't any answer. There couldn't be any answer for such an observation.

However, without any further ado, we stood to our feet - or, in my case, nearly standing before remembering that my feet were dangling above a street, and finding George helping me as soon as he saw that I had realized this fact - and followed each other down the staircase that descended to the first level, listening to Webster bitch a little more on our way down; "Should've killed himself three years ago, saved us a lot of trouble."

"Yeah, he should have," Nix agreed, "but he didn't."

Our boots touched the bottom step and I found myself breathing in the chaos of the street once again. One hour. One hour to move out.

For days, I had been pretending that I knew not my own town, that the whispers that came from old German women were simply because I was a female American soldier, that the position of the bakery was not familiar to me, that I wasn't sad to see the once-beautiful town burning and destroyed.

The chances were that if I didn't do it now, it would never be done.

And so I found myself walking along a winding road that might have led nowhere, except for the old mansion at the top of a hill; rather, where the old mansion had once stood at the top of the hill. Now, the smoke rose from the ground in gray pires of cacophony, drowning out the sweet air with their choking pillars of downfall. The source of such distress were piles of ashes that may have once resembled wooden timbers that may have once been constructed into what may have once been a majestic home.

And what a home it had been. The thought of watching brown eyes dart from where the owner sat, across from the table from me, the wooden table that upheld and stabilized a chess set; these thoughts brought tears to my eyes, and what sorry, sorry tears they were.

At one time, perhaps, the house had only remained because of pride. Pride in upbringing, pride in consequences, pride in the fortune that we did not possess. Who knew? There wasn't anything left; nothing to weep over or cherish. Perhaps, perhaps there were a few mementos that had survived the fire, but I did not have the heart to walk through the leftovers of the burning hunger of devouring flames.

I left then, turning around and walking to where soldiers were walking and bustling around a town square once again; but a different town square, always was it a different town square. My legs seemed to give out from under me, and I sat in a daze, lost, perhaps.

**...**

None of the men seemed to particularly want to leave Germany; when we laid our eyes upon Austria, however, all thoughts of Germany were left in the road behind us.

Mountains upon glorious, sky-reaching mountains, rivers with calm, blue waters, abundant trees of green leafery; even the sky seemed more attainable and the sun warmer.

As we progressed further and further into Austria, we met more and more trouble. There were hardly any soldiers; if there were, there wasn't any fighting to be done. The only trouble were the blockades they had put upon the roads to delay us in our journey.

The blockades served their purposes well; it seemed as though half the time, we were waiting for an engineer, rather than travelling onwards to reach our intended destination.

If anyone noticed that I was being particularly quiet, they did not say anything. Perhaps they looked at me and decided it was simply an after-affect from Landsberg that made me so subdued and withdrawn.

And so it was, as it always is; people will look and see what they want to see. If they do not wish to see pain, they will not see pain. If they wanted to see misery, they would see misery. If they did not care, they did not care. If I did not care if they cared, I did not care if they cared. What was it to me? It did not matter; their opinion, their sympathies would not bring back the past and fix any wrongs I might have committed. Indeed, if they had asked, I would not have told them.

In any case, Landsberg was on the road behind us, and even if its shadow did still loom in some of the men's hearts, they could push it aside with drink and liquor, with laughter and cheers to their country.

No, there was no fighting; the only fighting to be found was the soldiers wrangling with the forces of boredom as we sat on the road and waited for the engineers to come and blow up a few road blockades that prevented us from continuing up the narrow paths to Berchtesgaden.

There was one blockade left before we were out in the free, racing with the French to claim the grand prize of Berchtesgaden. It was no longer a fighting war; it was a race to see who could claim the victory and conquest of what before someone else did. Pointless and petty, it was the argument of children with sticky fingers who did not want to share building blocks with each other and were attempting to clutch every precious piece to their own individual flabby chests.

A pretty picture, no?

And so it was.

There was a pass we could take, if we so wished, to pass the French, to beat them to the prize. Of course we all wished to go; no one liked the French - and the feeling was mutual - so it would do our consciences no great injury to relieve the French of this one trophy.

A trophy, you say I say. Yes, says I; and so it was, and that was all that it was - a trophy to be collected and held high above the head of the winner. A golden statuette to catch and reflect the sun into the gleaming eye of the beholder. Nothing more and nothing less.

The engineers were fuckers who were always fucking late and, once they were there, never did their fucking job very fast. Shit, I could do it in half the time, and I didn't even know what buttons to press or shit like that. I wasted no time in telling Perco so and expressing any adamant frustration I might have had on the subject, with possibly a few profanities thrown in for good measure.

"Geezus," he told Tab - who was sitting next to him - with a smirk, "you would think that Dani was pissed, if you didn't know her better."

Ron conferred with Major Winters for a moment and, when Colonel Sink's Jeep pulled up, him as well. Colonel Sink pulled away; I could see the twinkle in Major Winters' eye even from where I was sitting in one of the trucks.

We had orders to outflank the French son of a bitch who wanted Berchtesgaden - I had forgotten his name; all anyone in the Service needed to know was that it was a French son of a bitch who wanted Berchtesgaden - and so we did.

Berchtesgaden was eerily quiet; the town had been deserted, but for the few loyal Krauts who had remained to look after things in the monster of a Kraut-fest hotel they had been running; the name of such a colossal endeavor was _**'Bertchesgaden Hof' **_- Bertchesgaden Garden.

Everything inside was wooden, mostly cherry wood that was highly polished without a single scratch upon them. What furnishings there were were a warm shade of burgundy; there was a bust of Hitler's head in the front hall. There were stuffed animals - a black bear standing on his back legs with his forepaws raised, for instance - and a mounted elk head on the wall above the registery. The tables in the dining area were still set with crystal and silver, pristine white tableclothes spread comfortable and elegantly across wooden tables, the matching wooden chairs lined up exactly, to the inch. This beautifully impressive setting was placed beneath crystal and glass chandeliers, accented with bronze statuettes, a rather large torso painting of Hitler that took up almost half of a wall, and majestically wooden candelabras with white unlit candles resting in their grip.

We looted, plundered, pillaged, and ransacked, but the real prize came when Easy Company was personally selected to take over the Eagle's Nest. I loved Major Winters, the adorable ginger him, at that very moment.

The Eagle's Nest was high, high up in the mountains above Berchtesgaden. No one ever called it by its original name - Kehlsteinhaus - because it simply wasn't worth the effort. Who gave a fuck, anyway? All we knew was that it was Hitler's personal retreat, intended to be a 50th birthday present; and that meant presents for us and everyone at home. Who else was able to say that they had been in and captured Hitler's mountain retreat?

So we raced up the fucking high majesty mountain, looking forward only to the goal at the very peak, and we raced up some more fucking high majesty mountain.

And then some more.

We weren't still running when we reached the top.

Now, when you say you captured Hitler's mountain retreat, a part of you envisions gold walls, diamond floors, or some shit like that. In reality, you looked around to find it was made nearly entirely out of stone; if there was no stone, there was wood to replace it. If there was no wood, well, there was air. Glorious, fresh, good-for-you mountain air that refreshed your mind, soul, and body - or at least, that's what they had told me it was supposed to do.

In the front room, there were perhaps ten comfortably stuffed chairs, all matching, all the same horrible pattern; cold and calculated, the place was not a home. There was a low-set wooden table, with a bowl containing ice and chilled champagne set exactly in the center of its shining surface. Light streamed in through the wide windows displaying the view that you could see from the vantagepoint of the round room.

A man in Kraut uniform - high up officer - lay dead on the floor, having comitted suicide, probably because he had heard the Yanks were coming. As Ron bent over him and examined the pistol the Kraut had used for the deed, a sudden bang that sounded rather conspicuously like a gunshot reverberated through the air, causing everyone within hearing range to jump reflexively and nearly reach for their gun, before Malarkey took a look at the man lying on the floor and raised his now-foaming, just-opened bottle of champagne, saying, "Here's to him!" before taking a decisive swig.

Nothing good lasts forever; we left Berchtesgaden shortly after V-E Day; on May 10, 1945, we officially became - or at least, officially in our minds - an occupation force. None of us minded; none of us minded at all.

We stopped at a few places on the way, only settling for the best, offered or no. Rumors, however, said that we were going back to war; war with Japan still brewed in harsh conditions. War with Japan was where we were headed, whether we liked it or not.

To make it all better - supposedly - the Army decided to come up with a 'Point System' that looked at an individual soldier's record - how many times he was wounded, how many action jumps he made - and tacked up certain points for every 'achievement',' so people like Shifty Powers or me could, perhaps, go home; we had seen all of the war in Europe. We didn't need to see the war with Japan.

Only a few men got to go home, however; the rest of us fell disappointingly _just_ short. A pot was held, where Captain Ronald Speirs would have a bunch of signed names on pieces of paper tossed into a helmet; he would then draw a single paper. The lucky son of a bitch would be able to go home.

We rigged it; Shifty Powers had never been injured, therefore had no Purple Hearts; he was short by fifteen fucking points, and him the finest shooter we had. We were all happy for him that he was able to go home and yet all jealous that it wasn't us.

I had been maintaining a correspondence of sorts with my good Ada, who now lived in France, updating her on where I was and what I was doing every so often, never quite gaining the courage to tell her of Geoff. Perhaps she already knew, I hoped; perhaps she just had never told me of it.

In my heart, I knew; she still was innocent, and how I wished I was as well.

Of the soldiers, I became the recluse; the one who did not get attached unless they were already attached. Attachment, I had learned, was a vague and meaningless connection that meant nothing in the end. I was afraid of losing them - we were, after all, going back to war - and I did not want to suffer through the same pain that I had the first time around or, indeed, most of my life. I began to withdraw.

We all began to, I think; when it came to a time when it was all about drinking, partying, occupying, and getting drunk, there was nowhere for any of us to fit in the scheme of things. We were lost, slightly bitter, hardened; we were soldiers now, fully capable of doing a job awarded to us.

We still were not home.

We were not home, and men were still somehow finding ways to die without shooting a single bullet or getting shot at once. Private Janovec had just been getting off of guard and was riding back to the base in the passenger side of a jeep when the truck in front of him lost a piece of its cargo, dumping it into the road, right in front of Janovec's jeep. They had swerved, off the road, crashed, boom; it was over.

It was surreal; you half expect them to come walking up to you on the road one day and say; "Boo. It's all a joke. I wasn't dead. Joke's on you. Ha ha ha ha ha."

The truth was, they weren't coming back. None of them were; even with the war done in Europe, none of the loved ones that we had lost were coming back. At times, I was nearly tempted to scream into the Austrian leafery; "IT'S OKAY. YOU CAN COME OUT NOW; YOU'VE HAD YOUR FUN. COME BACK."

Come back? They were never coming back.

Sergeant Grant, even; I had been riding with him in a Jeep with two replacements in the back seats, later at night when the world was quieter and the men had fallen back to their drinking again, taking turns with him telling stories about the good ol' glory days, back with Wild Bill Guarnere and his crazy ass ways.

Suddenly, as the replacement finally asked what had happened to Guarnere, we rode up on a rather peculiar sight; as my lips answered, "Got his leg blown off in Bastogne," Grant slowed down and stopped the car, quickly applying the brake before stepping out of the Jeep, telling us to "Wait here," and approaching a man framed in headlights of a running but not moving vehicle.

This pecular sight included three Jeeps, ours not included; two on one side of the road, one on the other, a trooper - the man Grant happened to be approaching - standing by one with a body lying in front of it. Grant asked if he needed any help, at which the guy started to drunkenly laugh. I noticed then that he had a pistol in his hand.

"They wouldn't give me any gas," he replied before leaning over the dead body and sneering with intoxicated contempt; "Krauts!"

Grant stepped forward, towards him, but he stumbled his way away from Grant to talk about the other dead man, one that I hadn't even noticed lying on the ground in front of the Jeep on the opposite side of the road. Grant followed him, not taking his eyes off the drunk in front of him waving a gun.

"I tried to explain; this fucking Lime, he wouldn't listen! I think he was a Major." There was no remorse, only anger at the Brit and pride - pride. For all I knew, that British Major was to someone else was Major Winters was to Easy; a hero, a respected figure, someone who had kept their asses alive through a hard and dangerous war.

"Look, Private, we got a problem here," Grant said, quietly so as not to alarm the man into gunning him. The man turned and looked at him.

"Do you have any gas?"

"Why don't you give me your weapon?" Grant held out his hand, but the man ignored it, turning back to look at the man lying in the mud behind him.

"Well, I guess I'll just use his Jeep; I don't think he's gonna be needing it."

Because he was dead.

The man started towards one of the Jeeps; Grant moved to follow him,

"Hold on a second there, all right?"

The man swung around and shot him, Grant's head flying back as blood went spurting from the wound, and he fell to the ground. I yelled bloody murder, swinging myself out of the Jeep without knowing what the fuck I was doing, running to fall to my knees at Grant's side as the man pulled away in the Brit's Jeep; it was all that I could do to even try to keep Grant alive. I ordered one of the two replacements to call an ambulance on the radio.

The only thought that I could seem to think was; _This, and for what?_

They hunted for a surgeon, hunting and hunting and hunting; at the same time, a hunt was going on for the man responsible for this. The two replacements and I gave as best of a description as we could, telling what direction he went in, everything that we could remember as fast as our mouths could properly form the words.

They finally dug up a Kraut surgeon after the only certified American surgeon that we had took one look at Grant and proclaimed that he wasn't going to make it; I found myself promising Ron I would get some rest, but instead my feet dragged me to a well-decorated place, where two men were playing cards; one of whom was lighting a cigarette, the other frequently glancing over his shoulder to where you could hear the Easy men having a nice, quiet conversation with a civilized, sober man.

"Geezus," said the one with the cigarette as he looked at his cards before smacking them back down, "gimme another hand." He put away his lighter before deciding to make a joke of the reason why the anxious one kept glancing over his shoulder; "I don't know who's taking a bigger beating; me or him."

"You wanna play a different game?" 

"Nah. Same game, just shuffle 'em up good, huh?" George's bright eyes glanced over at me as I leaned against the doorframe, leaning my head back with exhaustion. "'Ey, you wanna play, Dani?"

"Yeah, sure; deal me in, Floyd, will ya?"

A particularly loud yell of protest came from the adjoining room; Talbert's head jerked backwards to hear the sound, jerking back and slapping the cards down as he cut them, obviously boiling over with mixed emotions.

"You all right?" George asked, his bright eyes looking at Tab knowingly, the smoke from his cigarette expelling itself from his mouth.

"Yeah, I'm all right," Tab confirmed, a little too firmly.

"You wanna go in there and join in?"

"I should go in there and stop this," he replied, looking backwards over his shoulder once more in inner conflict.

"Floyd," George said quietly, not taking his eyes off of him, "let's just play cards; all right?"

Tab nodded; footsteps sounded out, storming with even paces into the room as the door burst open. Ron stood there when I looked up, holding his pistol in his hand once again. The trio of us shot up from our seats immediately.

"Where is he?"

"How's Grant?"

Ron repeated his question persistently.

"Is he okay?"

"WHERE IS HE?" Ron yelled, losing his temper; perhaps it was already lost.

Tab paused for a moment, looking to the door from behind which ensued the loud noises. Without another word, Ron marched in; I followed him quickly, Tab and George hanging back, but following nonetheless.

In this small room, there was a single chair; in this single chair, there sat a man, blood on his right temple, dribbling down his chin, one eye swollen shut, gasping and sobbing from pain. Toccoa men encircled this chair, rage in their very eyes.

"This him?" Ron asked. By the state of the man, he needn't have.

"That's him," Bull affirmed, adding; "Replacement. I Company."

"Where's the weapon?"

"What weapon?" The voice and its incantations was familiar, even if the face was too bloodied to be recognized. Without hesitating, Ron gun-whipped him straight across the face, blood spurting instantly.

"When you talk to an officer, you say_ sir._"

The hiccuping gasps were now sobs. Ron cocked his pistol, pointing it straight at the man's forehead; none of us had any doubt that Ron would kill the man, as the Toccoa men stepped back, some turning their head in anticipation of the gunshot and blood.

Ron's arm began to shake, visibly. Steadying, Ron looked at the side of his hand and, seeing that he had gotten gun on it from metal-bitch-slapping the man, he wiped it on the sobbing man's shoulder, turning, taking off his cap, and saying as only Ron Speirs can say; "Have the MPs take care of this piece of shit," as he walked out.

"Grant's dead?" Tab asked from behind me.

"No," Ron turned, looking at us for a moment before looking away as he put his side-arm back in its holster; "Kraut surgeon says he's gonna make it."

We all watched the toughest son of a bitch in the whole Army walk out the door without a backward glance.

**...**

One day, not too much later after Grant's injury and near-death experience, I was summoned by Major Winters; I stood off to one side and waited as he finished speaking with Malarkey, then walked up to him, saluted, and waited for his word.

"Dani," he looked at me for a moment - his eyes nearly serious, but yet twinkling - before continuing, "how do you feel about going to France?"

"Yes, sir." A smile broke across my face before I could possibly stop it. He had been pulling aside several of the men and giving them excuses to be elsewhere, so they wouldn't have to deal with war quite so much anymore.

He told me about my 'outpost'; it was simply that I basically become a tour guide, taking people to see the massive piece of _genius_ known as murder that the human race was unfortunately capable of.

I would leave in three days; just long enough to get my 'affairs' in order, and just long enough to spend some time with my comrades.

On the night before my departure, I heard my name murmured underneath the stars where I stood, arms crossed, eyes open and not truly seeing.

"Dani," he whispered again, smoothing his hand up and down my arm, staring down into my eyes with concern, "what's wrong?"

What's wrong, he asked. What's wrong.

My eyes refocused onto him, catching one of the final glimpses of him and his beautiful soul.

"I want to forget it all, George; I want to pretend like the war never happened, that my innocence was still intact, that... that no one had ever died. And I'm afraid for you all; when I leave..."

He knew what I was saying.

"Dani, don't think like that. You _can't_ think like that."

"It's how my life goes, George; if someone comes along, then I lose them. It's as simple as that."

"Dani, please, be reasonable; we're big boys. We can take care of ourselves."

"That's not what I'm saying," I protested, the pricklings of irritation beginning to stir in my mind. He was completely missing the point; either that, or he was completely ignoring what I meant. "I have a fear, George; and this war has fed this fear-"

"What is this fear, Dani?" He demanded; I saw that he was also beginning to lose his temper. I knew he'd had a few drinks that night, but I didn't think about it. I didn't think about the glasses I'd had either; we were both sober enough to know what the otherw as talking about, sober enough to remember it the next morning. "Tell me then, what is this unconquerable fear?"

He was mocking me.

"A fear that when I wake up one morning, everyone will be gone; I will have lived my life and everyone will have died and left me behind."

"Dani, please; be reasonable!" 

"George, you don't understand-"

"No, _you_ don't understand! We. Will. Be. Fine. We can take care of ourselves! You don't have to worry about it."

"But I will worry anyway!"

"Dani." He stopped short, staring at me; not hard and long, but with a hard gaze. "This fear of yours, it is irrational, illogical, unreasonable, ridiculous, it's... it's..."

""You call it irrational? I call it realistic, George."

"Wake up!" 

"Wake up from what? From this never-ceasing nightmare of my life? Don't make me laugh, George. Is it really so bad that I am afraid that if I really allow myself to love someone, they'll be ripped from me just like everyone else I ever cared about in my entire fucking life?" 

"And I suppose you cared about that German soldier that you cried over, back in Holland." His brown eyes seemed to have become black pits, staring at me with accusations stinging in their very pits.

"Yes." I said, quietly. He was about to cross a line. "Yes, I did."

"Who was he, Dani? Was he your sweetheart? Was he your boyfriend? Did you fuck _him_, before he left to go fight and kill our soldiers? Did you kiss him goodbye and say-"

"Shut up, George. Just shut up." I snapped. He had crossed it. "You don't know what you're talking about, so just shut the fuck up. I'm tired of having to deal with your shit, okay? I've had fucking enough. I can't believe you would even _think_ that fucking poorly of me, let alone fucking accuse me of it!" My voice has raised higher and higher. "Why're you so mad, George Luz? Is it because I won't fuck you? This is what it really all boils down to; Dani's a traitor, Dani must have fucked the Kraut because she cried when he died, Dani won't fuck me therefore she doesn't have any love for America. Really? I have lived with a terror for as long as I can remember, and you go and call it ridiculous? _Really_?" My voice suddenly broke. I was too mad to bring myself to speak again, so I slapped him, as hard as I could. And then again.

Surprisingly, he didn't stop me. Unsurprisingly, he let me walk away.

I convinced myself that he was just being insecure; that was the only reason he had let himself think those things. But when he didn't come back, when he didn't apologize, when he didn't speak to me, when he didn't say goodbye to me on the following morning - what was I to do?


	39. 11: Too Late

**A/N: **_Ryuu Miyori__**,**__ Volleyball Babe22__**,**__ xXxRainbowxXxStarxXx__**,**__ Horsesareamazing__**,**__ EmmyMK__**,**__ HeadbangGirl__**,**__ musicforsanity__**,**__ gothique4__**, **__Cheertastic978__**,**__ Dulcea Viata__**,**__ cHoCoLaTe-RuM__**,**__ AnImEwIlLRuLe__**,**__ Castiel4ever__**,**__ littlebabydevon__**,**__ CP2girls__**,**__ Kelly Belle__**,**__ AivieEnchanted__**,**_and _kate ()_, you guys are the best; no, seriously. The. Best.

Ever.

And oh. My. CHEESY. I am so so so so so so so so (x infinity) sorry that I haven't updated! I have two words; writer's. Block. Yeah, that disease sucks. I got all depressed *sniffle* but I'm back! That's also the reason why this chapter is, sadly, so short. Okay, I have some big, big news; like, ginormous news. Like, really, really, okay, yeah, you get the point; big stuff.

We're nearing the end of the story! I shouldn't have to tell you this, since I'm pretty sure it's mildly obvious, but I felt you deserved a fair warning. It might be done within possibly two or three chapters. If you guys encourage me enough (and kick my ass hard enough!) I know we'll make it through and I'll update more quickly. *Bites nails* so, please, please, kick my ass or do SOMETHING to motivate me. I'm not so good at self-motivation. Anyways. Also, ALSO; **READ THIS;** I have a new story planned (eeeh!) which I'm really, really, really excited to write. It's a Liebgott/OC. So be on the watch for it. Also, I promised one of my friends that I would write a Bill/OC. So be on the watch for those two.

All righty then. Get to reading! Read and Review, pleases. (:

**Chapter 39 ****- Too Late**

The French still did not much like me, I discovered when I visited their country. Why, I wasn't exactly certain, as I certainly was, in all of my messes, one of the most adorable creatures the Froggies had ever set sight upon.

Or so I imagined, to occupy my mind and time, when they spoke to me in their fast gibberish that includes a bunch of talking from the back of the mouth; I was to learn this language, however, and so I still listened with half an ear for any words or phrases that I recognized. Still, half the time, I thought they were simply jabbering whatever syllables came to their minds just to confuse me.

I kept myself busy enough, with the "job" that I had been assigned to. I was happy to get away from Austria, of course; as beautiful as it was, as good the plundering, the linguistic abilities of the people were far, far too familiar, and it did not do well for the mind to hear reminders of someone or something she was avoiding.

I thought about it, though; every moment, it seemed, I was catching myself caught up in thoughts of him; him, who I had left behind, who hadn't bothered coming to say goodbye to me, who had looked at me with hate in his eyes the night before we parted. Yes, I remembered him well. I regretted those moments spent screaming at him, more and more repentedly as more and more time passed. If there was a single moment that was not occupied by him, it was seized by thoughts of Ada. When she, bless her soul, had found that I was stationed in France, she nearly begged me to come visit her.

I always refused, insisting that I could not because my work - my _work_ - would not allow me to leave. Honestly, I was simply afraid; afraid of how I would face her, afraid of how to tell her, afraid of finding out.

Afraid.

_Afraid._

**...**

On August 30, 1945, I received a letter from Ron Speirs, stating that the war in Japan was over. There would be no more war; there would be no more fighting over turf made slick by the blood of my brothers, there would be no more loss; there would only be dealing with the consequences of such a war. There would be tears shed by mothers, sisters, sweethearts when their beloveds never returned home or stepped foot over their threshold because they were buried in the cold ground thousands of miles away.

When you think of war, you don't think of the consequences; you think of the fights, the negotiations, the political sparring, the needless shedding of blood.

You do not think - never do you think - of the ending result of such destruction.

I stayed at my post in France for another three months before a telegram was sent to me, stating the disbanding of the 101st Airborne. I was free to go home; I just wasn't quite sure where that was. With no war pending over my head in all its' gloom, there was nothing left to do but one thing, the one thing I dreaded.

One day in early December, I found myself walking down a street, trying to find a certain address and, finding it, turning in at the once-white gate that had faded, peeled, and yellowed itself with the grime that beset it from its surroundings. It was behind this pitifully swinging creation that I saw the house; it was a small brick house, two stories tall, with a steepled roof and dirty windows. The yard was a mess but somehow, in the midst of it, there survived a small, scraggly garden. It was there that the woman knelt, her long, blonde hair bestraggled and unkept, dirt clods hanging in the strands where her hands had run through, trying, perhaps, to calm a devastated mind. As she looked up to me as I stood there, bag in hand, staring, tears beginning to well up in my own eyes, she began to sob afresh, new tears mingling with old upon her skin.

"Dani," was the only word that stumbled past her trembling lips before she picked herself up from the earth and threw herself into my arms, sobbing into my sleeve even as her body shook with coughs, even as I began to weep with her.

She knew.

**...**

How do you deal with death? When it's all over and finished, how do you continue like it's okay? How do you move on? Thesewere questions that I had to ask myself every single day as we struggled to make a living to support ourselves upon.

She lived in a boarding house, cooking and gardening to help with the pay; pay which she had managed to keep paying with the money she had received for selling her father's grand old house. This money was dwindling away, nearly nonexistant when I arrived; and so we were forced to work our fingers nearly to the bone every day for some means to stay alive, clothed, fed, and sheltered, putting aside any spare money that we could shuffle to the side without suffering too badly for it.

Some days, when neither of us could bear for a silence to sit in the air, she would ask for me to tell her stories of the days in the army; so I told her of the times when we laughed, the times when there wasn't any roaring of guns or firepower, the times when we put death out of our minds and embraces, the times before Skip and Penkala died, the times before any of us had even set foot in Bastogne, Holland, or even Normandy, for that matter.

The stress of speaking of such times resulted with me finding a pen in my hand and paper underneath my fingers, scrawling away the early morning hours, filling page upon page with memory upon memory of the story that had filled the past three years of my life. This, however, was as a drug to my system; it relieved me, when I was explaining it to the invisible reader;

In mid-July, when flies were buzzing once again in Toccoa, Georgia, we had saved enough money; we bought passageway across the Atlantic Ocean to the Americas. There was very little luggage; I carried only what I needed to and Ada, for her part, only carried a small duffel bag and a single small cardboard box.

The first thing we did when we arrived on United States of America soil was visit Aunt Angie in San Francisco; when she saw my face, her expression remained the same. When she saw Ada's, however, she grew livid and shouted that 'There will be no German trash in my house,' ironically enough. Since we had no money to go gallivating about the countryside, we found a small, cheap apartment in SanFran, and we occupied ourselves with what work that we could; I, mostly in the city, finding what odd jobs I might, and she, mostly at home, knitting, sewing, patching, washing, anything to earn a penny or two.

Soon enough, I discovered this was not enough to counter the overwhelming thoughts that consistently persisted and invaded my mind, no matter how much I might try to evade them; and they were all of him. Memories, really, scenes of my past that had stayed with me and continued on through whatever journeys and struggles I had endured along the way.

Seconds ticked into minutes, minutes into hours, hours changing into days, and days into weeks. Time began to pass without my caring; I worked hard and long, only stopping at the end of the day when I bent over and slaved my tears upon a way out, the only way out that I had; my pen.

Ada noticed; one evening, when I had thought she was asleep, I heard footsteps from where I was sitting and scribbling as fast as my cramping hand would allow me.

Without any words, she, with both hands extended, held out my grandfather's typewriter.

I knew, finally, that it was my fault; maybe not entirely, maybe not completely, but I was to blame nonetheless. It was a blame I could never escape, and a burden I could never seem to bear on my shoulders. I began to sell my writings, turning them into plays, a book that I was working on, anything. I hardly ever wrote of my past any longer; I had reached the point of D-Day and then found that I simply could not go on. So I diverted my mind with plots of other things; genius, never-happen-in-this-lifetime occurances and plot points that all seemed to end up being somehow realistic.

Little by little, my success rose; within what seemed only a few moments, my main customer in the business world of theater plays, a man by the name of Arthur McGuire - also known as Teddy, he quickly informed me upon our meeting - decided that I would make a wonderful addition to his cast; when he chose to believe something, nothing ever got in his way, and he persisted in asking and begging me to join the crew until, at last, I relented.

Teddy was an older man; in fact, if he was a day younger than seventy years of age, you could call me a liar and chop my head off without any warning - since everyone needs a warning before they die, it's only decent - and everything continued on.

It wasn't enough; even with all of the work, I still could not seem to cope with the memory of the hate I had seen in _his_ eyes the last time I had seen him.

"Dani," said Teddy one day, hobbling out of his 'office,' "Might I have a word with you?" 

Teddy was a skinny old man - but endearingly so - with a mixture of white and gray in his thinning hair; he always seemed to have huge boxy glasses resting upon the end of his nose, and you never saw him out of a very ancient suit. We were practically partners; I took over most of his manual duties and, as much as he still technically had his name behind the thing, as far as anyone was concerned, my word was law unless Teddy said otherwise.

"Yes, suh," I complied, quickly setting down my work and practically hopping into the tiny space. He wedged the door shut behind us and squeezed against the wall to get to his engulfing chair before sitting down and staring at me across the wooden plank of a desk he had. The office was little more than a storage closet; entirely all of its room was taken up with a huge desk that might have been as elderly as Teddy himself, and behind this was an equally dwarfing chair.

"How's your cab fare these days?" He wheezed as he finally managed to plant himself in the cushy seat.

"Well, suh. But, suh, I know we did not, suh, come in here to talk about my cab fare. Suh." I replied, stretching back and interlacing my fingers behind my head, nearly touching the door when I did so. I always referred to him as 'suh,' drawling when I could; I knew he appreciated the dry and consistent humor. My drawl never failed to cheer him up.

"You do realize that we run a lot of your plays."

"Yahsuh."

"And they are getting more popular."

"Suresir."

"What name do you want on the credits?'

"Wha - I mean, uh, wuhsuh?" I had no name on the credits. 

"Most people choose a pen name, so they're anonymous, particularly if they're associated with the theater, my dear."

I barely remembered a time when I had not gone by the name of Dani Shoemaker; maybe it was not in my mind to remember, but it seemed to be because I was no longer the person the memories belonged to, and to think back on such times seemed to be an invasion of my own privacy.

Whenever I heard the name Dani, it was inevitable that I thought of Geoff. He had loved that name; his eyes would always twinkle when he said it, and his lips formed it as though it were a piece of candy that he would savour, the way he did the meager bits of candy he received on his birthday.

"Let me think about it."

The next day, I had an answer, and the change was made. Perhaps it was my own personal way of trying to leave the past in the past in the past, perhaps not; all I knew was that my mind was made up when I went to the theater the next day and told Teddy.

Two years passed. Two long and yet short years. They passed in torture, and yet at the blink of an eye, they were gone. At all costs, I wrote. It didn't matter of what, I found; just that I escaped the bonds of my skin for a few moments and lived in another time, another place, perhaps another skin, even.

Eventually, my book finished and, without my knowledge, Ada took my manuscript and sent it to publishers. It was received well enough; one offered to actually publicate it and it was with great joy that she told me the news the night before the meeting with the publishing company's representative. All I could seem to think about was how it had all changed; how I had gotten here, how long it had been, how well I could still remember every single moment. I hadn't forgotten a thing. As it was, I couldn't stop thinking of him; the urge to find him and tell him I was sorry was too strong; I wrote through the night, trying to keep my fingers and mind busy, and utterly failing.

I knew now; I knew, I knew, I knew without doubt, that I was utterly in love with him. I had known all along, and yet I had pushed the knowledge away only so I could play dumb. I had a feeling that he had known as well, and perhaps he had tried to tell me so, but I hadn't listened. Like the dumbass I was, I hadn't listened. But this knowledge came too late; too late. I was too late. It was too late to go back and change any moment in time, too late to take back the words that I had spoken, too late to say I'm sorry, too late to say I was sorry; now, he hated me.

The next day, it was with bleary and red-shot eyes that I hailed my usual cab-in-the-morning and told the driver the destination before glancing at my watch and realizing that I was running thirty minutes early.

"Aw, shit," I groaned from the backseat, clapping my hand to my head.

"Geezus, lady, watch the fucking language!" 

"You watch _your_ fucking language, there's a lady in the - HOLY SHIT, LIEBGOTT?"


	40. 11: Cabs and Trains

**A/N: **Yes, _PhilipMarlowe__**,**__ fallnightsandbrightlightsxo__**,**__ EmmyMK__**,**__ Kelly Belle__**,**__ tiggymcc__**,**__ Audrey Jenkins__**, **__CP2girls__**,**__ gothique4__**,**__ HeadbangGirl__**,**__ AivieEnchanted__**,**__ musicforsanity__**, **__cHoCoLaTe-RuM__**,**__ 3 ()__**,**__ Tears and Rage__**,**__ xXxRainbowxXxStarxXx__**,**_and _Ryuu Miyori_ are the most amazing people ever. And I love them. I'm js.

So. Cough. This update is a lot sooner than the last one was... Read and Review? :D

**Chapter 40**** - Cabs and Trains**

_Build me a home inside your scars,_

_Build me a home inside your song_

_Build me a home inside your hope in arms;_

_The only place I ever will belong._

_I am still running._

**[I Am Still Running - Jon Foreman]**

The tires screeched as the cab squealed to a halt against the black asphalt road. The smile on my face seemed permanently and joyfully plastered there, I discovered as the familiar face whirled so his heated stare could bore into my face with all the intensity of old.

"FUCK, LADY, WHAT'S YOUR-" Abruptly, he stopped speaking and did a double take, squinting at me as though I were sitting a great distance away instead of five feet and within his grasp. "Dani?"

**...**

**2 hours later:**

My meeting having been finished not 5 minutes before, I sat down in a dingy coffeeshop, waiting for the familiar head to enter through the door. Even as early as I had been, there still had not been nearly enough time to run into each other in the middle of a large city, so we had made a pact to meet in no less than two hours at the first place we could think of.

The seconds ticked on quietly and impatiently; it seemed with every new click of the clock, I checked my wristwatch yet again and wondered anew what could be taking him so long.

Finally, his dark hair appeared, his lanky limbs easily carrying him through the door and to my table once his illustrious eyes had spotted me waiting for him in a side booth.

The coffeeshop itself had a counter going completely straight across the room, cutting off the nearly disreputable customers from the workers, who wore dirty green aprons. The counter also served as a bar, possessing a few disassorted barstools and mismatched high chairs within reach of its' stained top. Around the once-cheerful walls, there were yellow-topped, green-benched booths that only offered the smell of spilt pop.

"Fucking lady held me up," was Liebgott's only reason for being late as he gracefully slid his lean body onto the seat across the booth's table from me.

What more was there to say? We caught up well enough; he was driving his cab, just as he'd planned back in Germany. I wasn't married, just like I hadn't planned back in Germany. Then again, he hadn't found his Jewish wife yet, nor settled down to have a bunch of little Liebgotts, so we were fair enough on that count. No, he said, there was no one. Bill had been after him to come to some party, but other than that, life was -

Oftentimes, however, I found that he would lapse into silence and look at me, scratching the back of his neck and running his tongue over his bottom lip quickly, before looking away and then swiftly back again.

"Joseph Liebgott, what the fuck are you thinking?" I finally demanded. Startled, his eyes widened slightly beyond their usual smirking depth, and his mouth opened. No words formed, no words came out; I took this as my signal to explain my question. "You're acting very strange. Why the hell do you keep looking at me like that?"

"Fuck, Dani. You look-" he paused, scratching the back of his neck once again, flicking his tongue over his full lip, half-grimacing before continuing. "You look different."

Did I? He didn't.

When we finally reluctantly parted ways, he promised to call me, and I promised to answer. He didn't have to say it, and I didn't have to say it; we both knew that the other was happy - no, more - to see each other again.

**...**

The smoke filled the dimly lit room, the sound of clacking keys filtering in through my ears; the glowing ember at the end of my cigarette, the familiar taste of smoke in my mouth, the certain stiffness of my eyelids as I blinked, the feel of paper beneath my fingers as I replaced a full page with an empty one that begged to be filled with words; it was home.

Lips pursing subconciously as I searched the page in scrutiny, holding the cigarette inbetween my pointer and index fingers, I licked my lips.

_Ring. Ring ringgg._

My eyebrows drew together in confusion and aggravation at the interruption. The chair scraped backwards and feet lightly touched on the floor in the pattern I recognized as walking. The pain in my neck stabbed as I reached a single hand towards it, my eyelids wincing at the cramp; my other hand reached for the exasperatingly ringing instrument set upon a small wooden table.

"Hello?"

"Dani," the voice on the other end of the telephone was one I recognized, the same accent I remembered, the same incantations that had once tickled my ears. Raindrops formed in my eyes, trickling down my face, leaving wet trails of sorrow behind.

"Bill?"

How long the call lasted, I was not sure. The words, on hindsight, were a blur. The only thing I am certain of are the waterfalls that blinded me as fell onto my hands typing furiously on the typewriter's keys before I finally gave in and wept enough tears for six years of my life.

**...**

He called me often after that day, at the very least twice every week, and I saw Liebgott almost as frequently. Sometimes he was followed around by a blonde who looked rather official; usually whenever I saw her, she had pissed him off and as a consequence, he was telling _her_ to piss off.

I never asked.

One day, Bill called me up and asked me to come to a party he was throwing the next month. I was eyeing my nearly-finished manuscript for a new play, checking for any flaws in the all but completed script. Yes, Teddy would love this one.

"What was that, Bill?" I asked, shuffling the papers back into order quickly.

"Geezus, Dani," his South Philly accent drifted over the line with some exasperation. "Me and some of the fellas are having a get-together next month. You wanna join?"

I hesitated. Crackling half-static filled the line where our voices were silenced. I seemed to have stopped moving altogether when he spoke my name again; "Dani?" 

"Oh, yeah, sorry, Bill. I'll have to see. No promises. I'm really busy."

And I was.

Why would I lie to Bill, anyway? I mean, it wasn't as if I was avoiding anyone who might be th-

_You sad excuse for a woman, _I told myself mentally as I continued to think up excuses in the back of my head as Bill digested this and interpreted it into his own man-speak.

"All right," he finally said, jolting me out of my Excuseland, "but at least write down the address and the date in case, ya know, in case you change your mind. If you _do_ change your mind, talk Lieb into coming, will ya?"

"I said maybe, Bill, not no."

"Whatever, doll. Okay, here goes; gotta pen?"

**...**

He didn't bring it up again; I pretended to forget about it while I proofed the manuscript and passed it to Teddy so the actors - who were bright, I tell you, could catch a line and memorize it as soon as see it - could go over the lines and get prepared. Teddy had been running out of material, so the pressure for a new play had been high; now that the pressure was off of me, it had been transferred to the actors, who did their best job - and their best job was a magnificent job - of getting prepared in as little time as they had.

**...**

It was opening night. The place was packed out, I could see; from my viewpoint, I could see everyone and everything that went on.

From any one person's standpoint or placement of seating, it was good enough to entertain the crowd and to hold their breath captive within their chests. A woman sobbed from a seat near mine; it was never quite enough to satisfy me. To know that I held their hearts in the palms of my hands and with a single tragic turn of the plot, those hearts would break and shatter into a million pieces-

It was my shelter, but, oh, it was a lonely and short existance.

I shifted in my seat, the cushions becoming restraining and uncomfortable, just as they always did and just as they always were, in the very depths of my mind. My only prison of choice but yet my only captivating gleam of hope, the words flew from the actors' tongues as my mind wandered in and out of space, timeless space that devoured your consciousness with all but a single intent.

I must have been seated there a long time; before I realized it, Intermission had started, middled, and finished, all without my giving notice to its appearance. The only lapse in my attentive nothingness was the occasional breaking in of the words spoken and it was then and only then that I paid attention to what was taking place onstage.

_You are very quiet tonight._

_I am sorry._

_There is no need to apologize._ The waltz was comfortingly slow and planned, methodical in its predictable steps. _Are you well?_

_Indeed, no, monsieur._

_Tell me._

_I wish to run away, but there is nowhere to run from one's self._

_Why should you wish to run away from yourself?_

_I have done terrible things, monsieur._

_So have we all._

So have we all.

The reunion was the next weekend, I remembered, in the back corners of my mind, absently wondering if I would go, then realizing that there had never really been any question. This answered question brought to mind another question, which was soon answered just as quickly; _What are you waiting for?_

**...**

Trains. Train upon train upon train upon train upon train upon train. They said it was two thousand, eight hundred and ninety-seven miles from San Francisco, California to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. My muscles grew stiff, my joints weak from nonuse; my neck cramped from hours upon hours spent in uncomfortable positions on uncomfortable benches, my mind dazed from lack of sleep, and my fingers grew tired from constantly needing to do something.

I couldn't deny it; nervousness was stirring in my belly, yet I felt utterly calm. A doubt would come to my mind, and I would blank it. I wondered exactly what Bill had meant when he said 'a few fellas.' There was no telling. I told myself that it was honestly nonsense and _he_ probably wasn't even going to be there anyway. I found myself wishing for the comforting company of Liebgott and his wiseass sarcasm, but he had said that he was busy that particular weekend.

At last, my foot stepped off of the last train and I stood in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I hadn't arranged anything - a hotel room, a place to eat, a transportation - yet I found that I didn't care. I was already running late. There had been so many delays along the way - train tracks weren't right, train was late, train was delayed, train was early, I missed the train - that I found myself hailing a cab, trying to get immediately to the address that Bill had given me which, conveniently, when I arrived there, turned out to be a small house.

A small house with lights in the windows, and the noise of people seeping through the cracks underneath the door and resounding through the glass panes of the windows.

My heart began to beat unnaturally fast. I paid the cabbie, trying to imagine if it were Liebgott, so he could give me some you-are-fucking-ridiculous-just-march-in-there-and-own-the-place-fuck-it-all advice.

My steps were loud in my ears as they crossed the yard up to the door, my fingers pausing on the knob before my hand grasped the shiny object and turned. Light streamed out into the darker dusk of nearing night, and I stepped into the house.


	41. 11: Nights and Hopes

**A/N: **_AivieEnchanted, gothique4, Ryuu Miyori, musicforsanity, CP2girls, Heartbeats77, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, Audrey Jenkins, Kelly Belle, killahxbunnay, KatAngel16, misha-mash, Horsesareamazing, _and _Corrupt Blossom_ have kept me alive the past few days with their amazing support and oh my goodness, guys. Smiley face. Like, legit.

OKAY. THIS IS IMPORTANT. READ TO THE RIGHT OF THIS MISSIVE IN CAPS LETTERS INTENDED TO GET YOUR ATTENTION. Okay. So. I have posted the official beginning of the Liebgott/OC that I've been DYING to start writing. And I need a personal favor from each and every one of you people reading this; go over there after you're done Reading (and hopefully Reviewing, so I know what your opinion of this chapter is!) and R & R that one as well. It's named 'Lights' and it would mean the absolute world to me.

Also very important; I understand that the first part of the story does not exactly take place at the reunion, but I ask that you bear with me and pay extra attention to it. It explains everything, I do believe, and is therefore very important. EVERYTHING. All of the criticism that I've received because it wasn't realisitic because there were physical exams...? Yeah, everything. So, read it. Like, legit. Okay.

Read and Review? (:

**Chapter 41 ****- Nights and Hopes**

My name is Delvina Argodale and, whether you believe me or not, this is my story.

When I was a young girl, I would lie awake at night; lie awake and listen to the murmuring voices of my German-born nurse mother and my American-born soldier-turned-grocier father, lie awake and dream of the life ahead. If ever I was called upon to look back on those times and asked to say a single thing about it, I would reply that it's strange how oftentimes, a young girl's ambitions for her life lead in the opposite direction of the path her life will take.

Mama got pregnant again when I was nearly six years old; there were some complications and the doctor advised Mama not to have the child, but being my Mama, she ignored him. My little brother was born on June 23, 1947; his name was Gery and he had Downs Syndrome.

When I was at the tender age of eight, my mama contracted tuberculosis. Two months after the day I caught her coughing up blood, I discovered her in her bed. Her eyes were closed, hiding the brilliantly blue eyes that were encircled by stark purple rings. I touched her ice-cold hands, inquiringly touched her skeletal form.

"Mama? The doctor's here again."

No reply.

She was gone.

My father went crazy from grief; every night, he drank himself into a frenzy. One day, he simply walked out on the road directly into the path of a speeding automobile, leaving Gery and I to depend on relatives and relations, the most known to us being our father's sister, Aunt Angeline.

She insisted that she only had the resources to take in one of us and told me so as I stood on her doorstep, watching her take Gery's hand and practically drag him inside. I thought I heard her mutter, "Trash belongs in the trash can, after all," but I didn't realise what those words meant until years later.

I was shipped off to Germany to live with my mother's father, my surgeon grandfather Opa, who, even though he was worse off than Aunt Angeline, was already supporting my mother's sister, Ada, and her two sons.

Wilhelm, the elder of these two sons, was a German boy who looked down on me, the unfortunate girl who did not know it was bad luck to be American. His younger brother, Geoff, however, was an entirely different matter and it took exactly three seconds after he laid his sparkling brown eyes on me before he had decided to be my best friend; and so he came to be, before the first day was spent.

Life seemed good; with Geoff, I was forced to forget that anything was or ever had been wrong in my life. We gave each other new names, new smiles, new thoughts. Opa eventually took a liking to me and began to teach me his field of expertise after I expressed an interest. It was also Opa that introduced me to the love of writing. I stood in his study one day and stared at the typewriter sitting majestically on his desk; the typewriter signified the remnant of good days in Opa's finances. It was love at first sight for the pair of us; I was magnetic to the keys, staring at them if they could be seen and thinking of them when they could not be.

All good things come to an end.

Men in uniforms came to the house. I was sixteen at the time, curious and yet distracted, and I did not think too much of it as I continued on.

The next day, Opa was dead, killed by a heart attack.

Ada couldn't support me, nor the house, so she attempted to sell she couldn't, she took Opa's small savings and found a place to stay, closing down the house until it would be sold. All I could do was give tight embraces and stow away on a ship bound for home.

I wound up on Angeline's doorstep in Portland, Maine, not knowing what I had in store for me. I made friends with the boy next door, Ron, spending more time with him than I did with what remained of my family. Gery was estranged to me; Angeline had made it so, and it was Angeline I always avoided but could never escape from.

As weeks, months, finally a year passed by and it became clear and plain that Angeline hated me; hated me with a passion, hated me with a burning fire, hated me with everything she had inside of her figure.

"-Delvina." I hadn't heard anything she said except for my name. Finally, I couldn't take it any more. The starving, the glares she sent my way, the fear I lived with - I simply couldn't take it any more; I confronted her.

"My name is Dani."

"Your name," she challenged me, eyeing me down, "is Delvina."

"Why do you hate me?"

"Excuse me?" Her eyes stared at me, eyebrows raised, fingers paused on the countertop, lips parted.

"Why. Do you. Hate me." I repeated more slowly, gritting my teeth to give myself the courage to say it. There is something about someone's hatred for you that quells your spirit. I feared her more strongly than I had feared anything in my life. In my eyes, she was a monster with thick, greasy fur, large yellow fangs, and a desire to eat children.

I was the child.

"I can see your trash mother all over you." Her voice was low and bitter, her eyes intense and burning, her teeth clenching and her jaw grinding. "I told Richard, I told him - don't marry her, she's no good. But did he listen, no. No, he never did. They're all no good, those filthy... Germans." She spat the word out, angling her head to the ground as she said it, as if she really had spit on the clean kitchen tiles when she said the nationality. "And I told his brother and him when they went off to join the army, I told them that they would regret the day." She began muttering, almost as though to herself. Her eyes no longer bored into mine; they were staring down to the floor. She was lost within herself. "I told Jacob, but did he listen; no, no, he didn't listen. And where is he now? In the ground. Ha! If they gave him a decent burial, those killers of mankind." Suddenly, her eyes were back up, and it was me that was the problem again. "No, they're all the same; your mother died, just to drive Richard insane. Yes, don't you deny it. She was a bitch, that one, as selfish as they come. German." Again, she spat the name. "They call themselves a proud race - they're good for nothing more than digging coal mines. You're no better, you burden, you weight, you worthless piece of girl. You write to that filth of a boy, don't you? That filth of a boy who gave you that abomination of a nickname." Geoff. He had told me that Delvina was a depressing name and my name was now Dani; I hadn't argued. His eyes had laughed too freely and twinkled too brightly to be disagreed with. "In that worthless language. I understand now; I thought that trash belonged in the trash can, but I see now that it's only made it worse and you should have been cleansed while you still could have been. But you are lost now, you hopeless trash."

And she walked away. She walked away. Her heels thudded on the ground with the force of a stampede of elephants and my vivid imagination told me that there was smoke coming out of her ears and floating to the ceiling, but she walked away.

There were certain pieces to the puzzle that I had been missing which had now suddenly appeared, handed to me by my dearest aunt and the journals I found in the attic she forced me to call my 'room.' My father and his younger brother, Uncle Jacob, had joined the army for the Great War, the 'First World War.' They trained together; Pops met Mama before he left for the action overseas; she was in the Nurse Corps. They wrote each other throughout the war.

Uncle Jacob was assumed to be killed in action, but his body was never found, only his dogtags.

As soon as Pops got home, he proposed to Mama, looking past the fact that she was from Germany, knowing that she had been on the American side of the lines. Angeline, however, was not so gracious.

War started up again. Some idiot with a toothbrush moustache named Adolf Hitler made a big ruckus about blaming it all on the Jews and wrote a book named _Mein Kampf_, or _My Fight. _Either way, translated or in its natural form, Geoff wrote that people were pouring to sign up for the horde of pureblood German that Hitler was breeding. War began. I was consumed with the work that took me away from Angeline's house as long as possible; until, that is. Until she packed up all of her things to move to San Francisco, until she left with Gery to get things in order, leaving me behind to watch the house. Until Pearl Harbor happened.

Pearl Harbor, Hawaii was bombed on December 7, 1941 by the Japanese forces who had allied themselves with the Germans and Italians. I was wiping tables down when I heard the news, working at the latest job, a local bar. Ron was sitting a few seats away when someone walked in and suddenly called it out; "Pearl Harbor was bombed by the Japanese." I don't think half of them even knew where Pearl Harbor was; it didn't matter. Outrage spread throughout the entire nation of America, however, and I watched as people piled out of the bar immediately, heading to the Army registration booths, which quickly began to flood.

Ron and I looked at each other immediately. Casually, I walked over to him, putting down my rag and raising my eyebrows, seeing as how I didn't have any work left now that everyone had left.

"Ronald Speirs," I had said to him on that fateful day, "you mark my words; I am helping."

"Consider them marked," he had smirked. "But how?"

I had shrugged. It hadn't mattered yet. All I had known was that I was going to.

That night set me to thinking; I knew that I would leave Angeline, yes. It felt as though my entire life had been a prelude up until that moment and my life had finally started; there wasn't any more waiting around to be rescued, no more loss and dying. This was a fresh start. It wasn't soppy, as it is in the movies, where the heroine gets tears in her eyes and stomps her way out of the door triumphantly after leaving her overbearing guardian in a state of fuming shock. It simply... happened.

I knew I couldn't join the Nurse Corps; it was the first place she would look. Even the scandalous Woman Cor, where women were allowed to fly planes and shit like that. I had to completely disappear, make it impossible to find me. I had to change my name, go by a name she wouldn't recognize, but even that wasn't enough; I had to become a man.

Angeline was still gone when Ron visited me in the bar one day, a week and two days after Pearl Harbor. We never had any business in the joint any more; it was completely quiet. The only noise seemed to be coming from outside in the direction of the registration depot and the only light came from the windows at the front of the bar beside the door; the only true illumination came from the lights that dangled from the ceiling above the round bar set in the middle of the room.

"Dani," he said softly, his heels falling on the wooden floors.

I looked up from where I was, leaning my elbows on the bar's wooden countertop, hands clasped, staring down at the counterpane.

"Hey, Ron," I smiled half-heartedly. I had been thinking of where I would go. I was running out of time; Angeline was coming back in three days.

"I've joined the Airborne."

Whatever I expected to come out of his mouth, it wasn't that.

"Ron, what the fuck is the Airborne?"

He took a deep breath, sitting down on the stool across the counter from me, unconciously falling into the same position as I was in, except I was standing and he was slouching on his high stool; his eye glanced up towards me cautiously, watching me to see how I would take this explanation.

"The Airborne, Dani, is a division of the Army where you jump out of airplanes. You have all of your equipment with you and you parachute behind enemy lines, defeating and ultimately conquering them."

I took in this impressive piece of knowledge. Finally, I asked my first thought.

"Why the fuck would you want to do that?"

He chuckled, looking down again as he answered; "They train the hardest, they fight the best, they're elite, they're guaranteed to be the best of the best." His hands clenched and unclenched in front of mine.

"Well, shit, Ron, I still don't see it."

"They're paid fifty dollars a month more."

And just like that, I knew; Angeline had always told me I was a burden, and by hot damn, I was going to prove her wrong.

The next day, I told Ron of my plan. He rolled his eyes and agreed that 'it was nothing less than he could expect' from me; I left Angeline a note and walked away before she could arrive back at the house filled only with packing boxes and a single piece of scribbled-on paper and find me gone.

I hopped aboard a train, using all of the savings I had secreted from Angeline, the extra money from the multiple jobs, the tips that I had earned; I travelled until I felt that the shadow of Angeline was far enough behind me that I could relax and I went to the closest registration depot I could find.

"Name."

I had thought of this; Dani Shoemaker, he had called me, his brown eyes chortling at the thought. Shoemaker, he had always said; how could anyone stand the name? How could someone go by the name of Shoemaker without laughing about it? Dani, he had pronounced me, declaring that Delvina was too bossy.

"Daniel Shoemaker."

"Age."

It continued on. I wasn't caught. By some miraculous miracle, I wasn't caught. Physical exam and all, I wasn't caught. All that was left was to wait, and wait I did, until it was time and I boarded the bus.

We came from everywhere, I learned; all across the country. We were called civilian soldiers, put into soldier's clothing, drilled, trained, tempered, anything that they saw fit. We were Airborne. We were the best of the best and we were paid to be the best of the best.

**...**

**Present Day;**

The lights blinded my eyes just as effectively as though I had suddenly stepped a few million miles closer to the sun. As soon as my eyelids had rapidly blinked a few times and I saw clusters of faces turning to stare at me where I was still standing in the doorway, my mouth went on autopilot and I said the first words that came to mind without thinking of what the hell would happen if this turned out to be a kid's birthday party.

"Awh, shit," I exclaimed, "don't tell me I missed the fucking party!"

Up spring a loud cry of 'DANI!' and it was with relief that I realized that it wasn't a kid's birthday party and his mama would not come running up to me and spank my ass with a wooden spoon for teaching her child swear words on accident while bursting in the door.

A drink was abruptly shoved in my hand and there were men all around me, kissing my cheek, grabbing me for a hug, taking my drink and sipping it before I automatically slapped him upside the head - for a moment, I thought my eyes caught an intense brown gaze, but I was surrounded again before I could think of it, and when I got another chance to look, the brown was gone.

It had only been my imagination.

My neck craned around, trying to get some glimpse of him in the crowd that pressed around me. As much as I loved the fellows, and as ecstatic as I was to see them again, there was a particular reason why I was here.

And that particular reason was not there.

I bit back the tears as I turned to face the crowd, finally diving into them and greeting them whole-heartedly, now knowing that he was not, in fact, there and I could rest easy. It didn't stop me, however, from looking at the doorway distractedly every three seconds in hopes that he would come waltzing in and shouting something about the good qualities of beer before our eyes caught and held.

Hopes. Hopes are nothing. Each three seconds passed and my eyes went to the doorway and he was not there.

Another figure was; standing upright, without help, without crutches, a glass of beer in his hand, and a smile on his handsome angular face. He was happy to see me, I noted in the back of my mind, before practically flying towards him on wings of happiness.

"BILL!"

"Hey, doll," he greeted me, laughing as I threw myself into his arms. I didn't have to ask about his leg; I knew that if not for an artificial leg, he would be on crutches. I didn't want to think about it; out of sight, out of mind, I told myself, and so ignored the thought even as we grinned at each other inbetween words of greeting.

"Where's Perco?"

"Ah, why would you ever want to see him? Too boring," Bill replied, but cracked another grin at my look and jerked a finger over his shoulder, "he's in the kitchen. Lemme go give him a kiss for you before you get to him, just to warn him that you're coming."

Familiar faces were all around me and warmth glowed throughout my entire body. I had been there ten to twenty minutes and I had already been proposed marriage at least a dozen times. There was something missing, but I tried to ignore it. As the time wore on, I knew that it was pointless to ignore it; ignore the vacant spot next to me, ignore the missing smile in the row of laughs that I caused, ignore the body that didn't hug mine, ignore the missing beat of my heart every other moment. I had lived in such a way for three years; I didn't want to live in a similar manner one more day.

It became too much for me. Bill must have noticed that I was beginning to lag; his hand was on my arm, his eyes staring at me in concern, his voice asking me if I was all right.

I nodded, rubbing above my eye.

"I just need to go to the little girl's room," I told him, forcing a smile; I needed to get out of the crowd of men that only reminded me of _his_ absence. Bill nodded twice, not quite believing me, but pointing me to the bathroom. It was down a hallway; a dark, unlit hallway that did not seem to lead anywhere. The bathroom, Bill told me, was the last door on the right. There were two doors on the right, one on the left at the very end.

I stumbled past the first one, not noticing the crack of darkness or the hand reaching out from the absence of door. Before I could whisper, say, or shout anything, a hand was around my wrist and I was swiftly pulled into darkness, the door shutting with all the deadly quietness that belonged in the black room that the single plank of wood shut out from the party in the next room over.


	42. 11: Fully Mine

**A/N: **THE AMAZING, THE FANTASTIC, THE INCREDIBLE; **Heartbeats77, CP2girls, Tears and Rage, Horsesareamazing, Whitetiger77, gothique4, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, AivieEnchanted, littlebabydevon, Intersec, 1womanpres,** and** HeadbangGirl**, THANK YOU! I cannot say how much it has meant, this past week, to be so uplifted and encouraged by your feedback.

And I just found out the most amazing news a few days ago; Oh. My. God. My brother's in the Screaming Eagles.

Sorry for the shortness of this chapter - it's also a shock to me to announce that the next chapter is the very last of this story. I'd go into a speech about how amazing it has been and how the support has meant so much to me, how you guys have gotten me through one of the hardest periods of my life that I have known so far, but... I'll just save all that for the next chapter haha.

**Chapter 42**** - Fully Mine**

**...**

_Underneath the starry sky,_

_You can bring me back to life_

_I touch your skin, I feel alive;_

_Been searching for you every night_

_Take me somewhere I don't know_

_Watch all the people down below_

_We've got all the time in the world;_

_It must be the chemistry tonight_

_I hope that you know_

_I won't let you go this time_

**[Chemistry - One Night Only]**

**...**

Darkness captured me, engulfed me, swallowed me whole. My breath began to rush in and out of my chest; I could hear his as well, feel the air fanning across my face as he inhaled and exhaled oxygen. Attempting to back away as quickly as my body would allow, my heel caught on an unknown object that seemed fastened to the floor with determination and I flailed my arms in a desperate attempt to maintain my balance.

My hands landed on broad shoulders and, without thinking, I steadied myself on his solid frame as his hands appeared at my sides, keeping me upright. Then I quickly realized what I was doing. I had nearly jumped away again when -

"Dani," he whispered and my feet froze.

"G - George?"

Anything that I had planned to say when I saw him deserted me in that moment. Perhaps I would have known the perfect words to say had the lights been on and I had been able to see his face and read his eyes; but then again, there was also a chance that I would have hid my face in shame if I could see him.

Out of nowhere, his arms wrapped around me, pulling me into his chest and nestling me there for countless, wordless moments. I could hear the beating of my heart in my ears, conspicuously loud in the blackness that hid our embrace.

"Dani," he finally whispered, pulling away slightly, enough to where he would have been able to see my face had the lights been on. "I'm sorry."

"I am too," I murmured, reaching up and finding his hand, which was resting on my waist; I interlaced my fingers with his before echoing my own words; "I am too."

Even the darkness could not disguise the evidence of his smile; I felt his hot breath tickling at my lips before our seperate pairs brushed and he placed a slow kiss on -

Suddenly, the door burst open and light flooded the room, forcing my eyes to squint to see exactly who the fuck was...

"Dice, Luz?"

"GAHDAMNIT, PERCO."

**...**

I had never thought that I would curse the fact that George Luz was the life of a party, even if he did not wish to be; but here and there, everywhere, the men called for him to come and tell a joke - a good joke, mind, none of that crap with the dame in the straightjacket, now, Luz - and when we could steal away, we stole away for a moment. Refreshments in the kitchen, protestations of needing fresh air - excuses, excuses.

The moments were few and far between, stolen even. Our grand reunion was often reduced to simply smiles across the room, brushing hands when we were pulled past each other with force, and our eyes meeting every other moment. But he was glorious - alive, warm, here, fully mine.

The beer was cold, I discovered as I sipped at it, tasting the brew tentatively. As much as my reputation preceded me - I could drink any man under the table, aged or otherwise - I was still a bit hesitant of this particular concoction, considering as how many, many other men had gotten their grubby littls hands on it before I had even arrived.

It didn't matter, I also found as I realized my own hand was in a larger, calloused one, and I was being dragged towards the backdoor. The stars were exceptionally bright, I realized as I relaxed on the back porch, silently melting into the arm that encircled me, occasionally glancing up at the face above mine. He looked content, yet thoughtful.

"Dani," he finally murmured, "I want you to know something."

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

There was a soft pause that lingered in the air, as if a slow and gentle rain had just fallen. I wasn't sure what I had been expecting, but it had not been this; never this. At most, I had hoped for an apology and an acceptance; I hadn't considered the possibility that he already knew.

He continued, talking more quickly now, as though afraid I would stop him.

"And I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Dani. I don't care about all the rest or the way you live, how many of my cigarettes you steal, or how long it takes; all I know is that you're more than I ever dreamed of and I don't want to let you go ever again." He slipped his arm from around me, moved from the porch, and knelt on the ground.

"Dani, will you marry me?"


	43. 11: Eternity

**A/N:** First of all, a huge, huge, huge shout-out to everyone this past chapter; **Kelly Belle, Whitetiger77, musicforsanity, Tears and Rage, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, Volleyball Babe22, gothique4, Heartbeats77, xXxRainbowxXxStarxXx, Lift the Wings, HeadbangGirl, CP2girls, Audrey Jenkins, Ryuu Miyori, littlebabydevon, tiggymcc, sakuraddiction, AivieEnchanted, Liliesshadow, **and hell, even the Authors Note! **Kelly Belle, KatAngel16, littlebabydevon, gothique4,** **HeadbangGirl, Cheertastic978,** and** Heartbeats77**. :)

Secondly; SPEEECH! SPEEEECH!

Each and every single one of you are equally amazing, whether you've been here from the very start or you just joined in on the story, at the exact end of it. I'm not kidding when I say this; you have gotten me through some really, truly rough patches in my life and I cannot begin to express how much I love you guys for it. I feel like I know every single one of you, through your support. And, hey, always feel free to message me or anything like that, if you're ever in need of a friend. Or anything at all! Honestly. It would be my pleasure.

You guys have given me such a huge welcome to the Band of Brothers fandom, I have to say that you guys feel like family. Hearts + hugs to each and every one of you. And cookies. And more hugs. :D

Oh. And while you're looking at this, I might as well remind you to go check out my latest story; a Liebgott/OC, called _Lights_. :D I'm pretty excited about it. But I just wanted to say thank you to EVERYONE; and after reading this chapter, it'd be cool if you could go check out my new story, _Lights_ (Liebgott/OC), Alert, Review, all that cool stuff.

But I have to _beg_ you to review this chapter. I killed myself over it. Legit. Plus, it IS the ending chapter... *puppy eyes* Read & Review! (:

(But don't forget to enjoy as well. :D)

**Chapter 43**** - Eternity**

_I've been to heaven, I've been to hell,_

_I've been to Vegas, and God knows where,_

_But nothing feels like home like you, babe,_

_I love you more than you will ever know._

**[I Love You More Than You Will Ever Know - nevershoutnever]**

**...**

The minutes were long, the days longer. Even as I continued on with my life, I felt as though I was waiting, waiting, waiting; at certain times, I even caught myself staring at the clock, begging for the seconds to tick by faster and faster.

There were rays of sunshine that could not be - refused to be - overlooked. Liebgott was comforting and supportive - or so I liked to believe - and every other night, the phone went _ringring!_ and my stomach jumped into my throat, my heart replaced my stomach while beating a dramatic rhythm against my ribs, and my liver messed up the entire process entirely.

"Please?" The note in my voice was decidedly begging; the Californian sunlight pouring down on the two of us where we were, walking along the sidewalk and eating ice cream, added a decidedly dramatic feel to the entire scene as he answered.

"No!"

"But why not? I thought you loved me."

His dark, dark, dark eyes rolled over to give me a non-sympathetic look that screamed what he said next; "You are not putting me in a fucking pink dress, Dani, no matter how much you fucking beg and shit."

"But Joeeeee..." My eyes widened and my knees fell to the ground in an impromptu display of pathetic begging. "Pretty please? Just for me? I'll never ask you to do anything ever, ever again. I swear."

"Get your ass up."

"Not until you agree."

He reached down and began tugging on my arm to get me back up to my feet, but I resisted almost violently.

"You are such a fucking child," he huffed as he finally gave up and stood straight again. I took this to mean his resignation to the matter and I sprang back up to my feet with a joyful grin that didn't rub my triumph in his face at all even as I attacked him and flung my arms around his torso, giving a tight squeeze.

Sweet victory.

**...**

**2 months later:**

My knees were shaking underneath the cover of the white dress. The only sound I could hear was the gentle music beyond the wooden double doors in front of and, from behind me, the only companionment that I had available; the silky mutterings of one Joe Liebgott, mutterings that complained of being the 'man of honor' who got to walk a dame down an aisle when she had two perfectly good feet that she could walk on by herself, and how he'd always known that Dani would marry George, ever since that one time in that one truck on that one road leading to that one concentration camp... Mutterings that droned on and on as they took a backseat to the single pounding in my head, the one thing on my mind.

_It's here. It's finally here_, was all I could think as I looped my arm through Joe's, just as the doors swung open and we took the first unified step down a carpet that nearly had no end. But standing at the nearly unreachable end, there was a man with a look in his eyes that made my knees steady and a blushing smile grow on my face until it felt as though my face were crimson and my grin from ear to ear.

_Liebgott, walk faster._

**...**

She was beautiful. Gorgeous, stunning, breathtaking. He had always thought so, but at this moment, she was the most glorious thing he had ever laid eyes upon.

There was one single thought resounding through his mind; _Mine._

Then she looked into his eyes and she smiled, roses blossoming out over her cheeks, her eyes twinkling at him and promising him the life that they would have would be a long, good one. A life that would never be regretted.

_Mine._

And so he could ignore the cat-calls the men were throwing out as she advanced down the aisle towards him. He could pretend to not hear them when they started cursing him for being the lucky bastard he was. He was only conscious of the woman in front of him and the fact that she was the nearest thing to heaven his earthly eyes had ever set upon.

_Mine_.

**...**

It was a blaze of brown eyes and long words forced out of the reverend's mouth, then the rings were on, the vows said, and our lips met, softly at first; then his arms crept around me and, in front of the entire Easy Company group assembled in the pews below, he deepened the kiss and dipped my back into a bend.

We were husband and wife. Married. Joined. Unified. Together. Forever and all of eternity.

**...**

**1 month later;**

**The End of Our Honeymoon**

The snow was freezing cold beneath my feet, I knew, and then it was upon my fingers as they searched through the snow.

"It was here," I murmured absently, before my buried fingers caught on a single strip of cloth. Hurriedly, I scrambled to unearth the invisible piece of property and, as it was revealed, it was discovered to be the raggedy remains of a medic's bag; the type that has a strap crossing over your body to meet the shoulder opposite the hip upon which the bag rested. Even as caked with filth as it was, it was familiar underneath my fingers and, as I opened it, I began to hope desperately that it was there.

The articles came out, one by one, showing proof that although the bag had been thoroughly disregarded on the outside, its' occupants remained fairly unspoiled; two rusty pairs of brass knuckles, both different styles and countries; a picture of a smiling boy and a laughing girl; a pack of cigarettes that had seen better times; an also rusty Zippo of unusually fine make; two syringes of morphine; three small bandages; a single tin spoon; and lastly, a single piece of worn paper that contained all the doubts and fears of a single girl caught up in a large, turbulent world.

I rose from where I had been squatting above the icy white concoction of the sky, turning to where my husband stood, waiting for me with a smile in his eyes, despite his familiar surroundings. I had never been more aware of them, however, and I looked around one last time before turning back to where he patiently endured the chill. My feet began to walk back towards him, my lips flashing him a smile as he held out his hand; the hand I knew would be alive and warm.

"All done?" 

"Yes."

Our hands met, fingers entertwining and interlacing, feet crunching through the snow in perfect time with the other's steps.

"Let's go home," he murmured, rubbing his thumb over the skin on my hand in slow, soft circles.

"Okay, George," I agreed; indeed, there was not a single thing that sounded better in the world.

**...**

**Epilogue;**

"Mama!" The child's cry was agitated and stifled with sobs. My hands dropped the soapy dishrag onto the tiled kitchen floor, my arms stretching out to receive him as he tumbled into my welcoming embrace. Before he could even attempt to explain through his tears what had happened, he was seated on the counter and my eyes had already assessed the skinned situation.

"It's gonna be okay, honey," I crooned before kissing the spot on his knee that had received the grievance. "Is that better?"

His brown head nodded up and down emphatically a few times before he managed a wobbly smile. Within a matter of seconds, I had the cut cleaned and, before he could even manage a blink, he was laughing again, laughing within his large brown eyes, laughing through the gap produced by a missing tooth, laughing from his stomach, laughing from where he stood once more upon the ground.

Before long, he was back outside in the field, and I was back to my dish water, finishing up with the last of them when -

"Dani! Dani!"

My heart sprung into my throat, just as it did every dawn when I awoke to find him lying next to me, every morning when I said goodbye and he kissed my lips as he walked out the door, every evening when he came home and called my name as though I was the only thing in the world and he never wanted to leave me again.

This is not the ending of my story, just as the beginning was not the beginning of it; I have many years left to my life, and when my time has petered out and I pass on to be with my comrades in heaven, my legacy will be passed on through my children, my grandchildren, my great-grandchildren.

My name is Delvina Luz. This is my eternity.


End file.
